


Power Struggle

by mizjoelystartrekfics (mizjoelysotherfics)



Series: Power Games [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Episode: The Sequel, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 34,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizjoelysotherfics/pseuds/mizjoelystartrekfics
Summary: A sequel to my alternate ending story Playing With Power. What happens when the prisoners don't stay imprisoned?
Relationships: Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard, Selar/Worf (Star Trek), William Riker/Deanna Troi
Series: Power Games [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651390
Kudos: 7





	1. Calm Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> As with "Playing With Power", this story was originally posted on ff.net back in 2007, and printed in an actual fanzine or two (ok, two) pre-interwebs.

**Prologue: The Calm Before the Storm**

"Wesley is getting suspicious."

"Hmm?"

Beverly Crusher rolled over and poked her companion in the ribs. "I said, Wesley is getting suspicious. And you've stolen the covers again."

"Hmm." An arm appeared from beneath the stolen covers, snaked its way around her waist and hauled her closer. "Better?"

Crusher sighed in mock exasperation, then snuggled closer to her companion. "Much." After a second, however, she straightened back up. "But you still haven't acknowledged my first statement."

"You sound like Data when you talk like that," Jean-Luc Picard mumbled complainingly. His eyes remained closed, but popped open when he felt the weight of her stare on his forehead. "All right," he sighed, pulling himself up to join her in leaning against the cushioned headboard. So much for sleeping in. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and blinked blearily at Beverly, not quite awake, at least not enough for this conversation. "Wesley is getting suspicious. Suspicious of what?"

She regarded him out of steady blue eyes. "Of us."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "You've mentioned something to him?" There was an undercurrent of unease in his voice that he hoped she didn't hear. It was possible that Wesley still resented him for convincing the boy to come clean after that mess at Starfleet Academy a few months prior. It was equally possible he was completely over it, but Picard had no way of knowing since he hadn't spoken to Wesley since then. From what Beverly had shared with him, her son was working diligently to make up his lost year, but that was about all he knew.

"Not yet," Crusher replied. "Nor did I plan on it, not until we'd discussed it first. But I don't like keeping him in the dark, not about something as important as this."

Nor should she, Picard realized. Their relationship was hardly a secret, but it wasn't exactly something they displayed in public, at least not on the ship. They still kept separate quarters, and if their breakfasts together no longer involved travel time on most mornings, well, that was no one's business but their own. Of course Will Riker knew exactly what was going on, as did Deanna Troi, but they had thankfully kept any comments to a minimum. "Beverly, it's perfectly fine with me to talk to Wesley about our relationship, especially since I would very much like it to continue. As, I hope, do you."

She poked him in the ribs. "You know how I feel about you, Jean-Luc." Her mischievous expression faded, replaced by an intensity Picard found disconcerting. "You know how much I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured in reply, pulling her close for a heartfelt kiss that left them both breathless. Before things could continue further, however, Beverly pulled away under pretense of fluffing her pillow.

"Well then, I think it's time I told him we were involved. That we're in a relationship."

They both fell silent as they thought about the implications of her words. Although their current relationship had its origins in near tragedy – they'd finally acknowledged their feelings for each other after the ship and crew had been hijacked by bodiless entities calling themselves the League of Uxmal Pirates – things couldn't have been better between them. It had been six months; although Jean-Luc had been content to leave things as they stood, he had always known it couldn't last. This trip to Risa had been their first public outing together, and he was sure their coinciding leaves had raised a few eyebrows. Leaving Wesley – and his own family – out of the loop any longer made no sense at all.

"You're right," Picard finally said. Crusher gave him a suspicious look. "No, I mean it," he insisted. "There's no need to keep our relationship a secret, from your son or anyone else. I'd like to introduce you to my brother and his wife and son." Well, not so much Robert who disapproved of anything Picard did just on principal, but he felt it was important to let Beverly know that he was in complete accord with her on this. That he wasn't just indulging her request. That he committed to this relationship at the same level.

"Good." Crusher's voice oozed satisfaction. "I was afraid you'd argue with me. After all," she added dryly, "everyone knows how much you value your privacy."

The eyebrow rose once again, then waggled rakishly. "Just how much detail were you planning to impart?"

Crusher responded by whipping her pillow around and hitting him with it. "Don't be an idiot!" she exclaimed with a laugh, hitting him again for emphasis. Picard merely raised his arms to protect his head against her attack. "I'm only going to tell him we've been seeing each other." Another raised eyebrow, another hit with the pillow. "Don't raise that eyebrow at me, mister!" She laughed. "I won't tell him how much of you I've been seeing! Especially since we came to Risa!"

Picard's response was to grab Crusher's pillow away from her and wrestle her back under the covers.

**oOo**

Two days later, proclaiming that she needed a break from lounging under the Risan sun, Beverly announced her intention to go shopping. "I'll probably be here most of the day," she warned Picard as they neared the gates to the famous bazaar. "You've managed to keep me distracted this long – and don't think I haven't appreciated it! – but the need to shop is beginning to weaken the barriers of common sense."

"I told you, not to worry. I have some plans that will keep me busy," Picard assured her, not for the first time that morning. His companion seemed to feel as if she were abandoning him, if only for a single day. "Remember, there are several archaeological sites I'm interested in visiting. I'll meet you back here around dinner time. Will that be long enough?"

"Probably." Crusher grinned at Picard's expression of mock horror; the sun was barely over the horizon, and the prospect of an entire day spent shopping was enough to give any man the collywobbles, as Nana Howard would put it. "If I don't show up by bazaar close at sundown, come in after me!"

"Agreed." Picard gave her a chaste peck on the cheek and waved good-bye as she disappeared through the gates.

**oOo**

Beverly appeared around the agreed time, give or take a few minutes. Picard was sitting on a bench, and rose to greet her. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting!"

Picard kissed her warmly and took her hand as they navigated through the crowd. "I hope you're hungry, because I'm starving," Crusher announced as they emerged into the relative quiet of a side street. "I haven't eaten since this morning!"

A smile was her only response. Crusher smiled back, squeezing Jean-Luc's hand as they strolled down the street. This vacation had been perfect, exactly what they needed. It had been a particularly trying year, and the ship's five-year refit was a welcome relief to everyone on board. The ship's CMO hadn't been to Risa for years, and was more than willing to accept Jean-Luc's invitation to join him after visiting her son on Earth. The beaches were magnificent, the atmosphere relaxing and the shopping, as she'd just proven to her satisfaction, was superb. It was everything she'd hoped for, and more. It was a chance for them to explore their infant relationship, away from the often-chaotic confines of the ship.

Right now, however, the only thing Crusher was interested in exploring was a good meal. And she spotted the perfect place… "Look! It's that restaurant Will recommended," she exclaimed, taking Jean-Luc's arm to drag him laughingly across the street. "The food had better be as good as he claims," she added as they entered the main door.

Jean-Luc was fairly quiet during the meal, but Beverly hardly noticed, swept up in her own enjoyment as she was. She asked him how his day was; receiving a bare "educational" as an answer, she continued to chatter brightly about the shops and beaches and food with a bubbling enthusiasm that made her feel like a teenager. Picard seemed content to watch and listen to her, smiling and making occasional comments.

"I think I've been talking too much," Crusher said with a smile as they headed back to their hotel. Picard's response was a brief kiss, to which she enthusiastically responded.

It wasn't long before they reached their hotel; the restaurant was closer than she'd thought. She'd have to keep that in mind, Crusher noted. The food had been quite good…

She stopped short as they entered their room, looking around in dumfounded amazement at the number of packages she'd managed to accumulate during the course of the day. They'd been delivered to the hotel as soon she made the purchases and now lay in piles, both on the floor and covering every horizontal surface of the room – with the single exception of the bed. Their Risan hosts had thoughtfully left that piece of furniture clear. "Did I really buy this much? I didn't realize I had it in me…"

"Apparently you do," was Picard's response. She turned to tap him playfully on the chest, only to have him grasp her wrists and pull her closer for a hungry, passionate kiss that left them both breathless. Picard kicked the door shut behind them as Crusher responded to the kiss, pressing her body against his and twining her hands behind his head.

Picard maneuvered their bodies smoothly around the piled packages as they remained locked in each other's arms, stopping only when they reached the bed. Their clothing came off easily, courtesy of Risa's more than casual dress code. Both wore simple shorts and shirts and very little else. Sandals and underclothing topped the rumpled heap on the floor as passion flared.

They were both ready and more than ready as they fell onto the bed, Jean-Luc raising his body above Beverly's as he pressed fervent kisses along her neck and chest. He was smiling again, and Crusher felt a tiny frown crease her forehead. There was something about the smile that made her uneasy, something dark and possessive. Surely that look of triumph in his eyes was just her imagination? Thought fled, and she closed her eyes as a dizzying feeling of ecstasy consumed her.

But it wasn't her imagination when she opened her eyes afterward to see her lover gazing down at her with an ugly, gloating smile distorting his features. And it wasn't her imagination when he said softly, chillingly: "My dear Beverly, you've no idea how much I've looked forward to this moment. Six months is a long time to wait, but you've certainly made it worthwhile."

Crusher's eyes widened in horror. The voice was that of Jean-Luc Picard, but the words belonged to someone else, someone she'd never thought to hear again; Asrun Narve, Commander of the League of Uxmal Pirates, whom she'd long believed safely back in exile on their storm-swept prison planet.

She screamed.


	2. By a Kiss Betray'd

Inside his own mind, trapped and helpless as he'd vowed never to be again, Jean-Luc Picard was screaming as well. Screaming his hatred to the pirate now occupying his body, screaming his anger and outrage at having been shunted off to a corner of his own mind and forced—again!—to watch helplessly as his body participated in a rape. To watch with horror the moment Beverly realized something was horribly wrong.

A moment too late. As soon as recognition entered her eyes and she screamed her own anger and betrayal, Narve brought Picard's fist up to deliver a smashing blow to the side of her head, then a second blow that brought her to full unconsciousness. He rose from the bed after that act of casual brutality, looking around the room as he stepped into Picard's clothes. With a triumphant smile, he found what he was looking for: the decorative cording from one of the many boxes containing Beverly's recent purchases. He yanked it from the package without regard for the contents, which spilled onto the floor in a jumbled heap. Picard numbly noted a shirt that he'd admired, no doubt meant as a surprise for him, along with a few other articles of clothing before Narve turned back toward the bed, striding with grim purpose.

Pausing only long enough to throw Crusher's clothing back on her unconscious form, Narve knelt on the bed and bound her hands and feet together with the efficiency born of long practice. When he finished, he jumped back to his feet and tapped Picard's combadge. "Narve here; you there, Mylal?"

"Affirmative, Commander," came the prompt response. "I was able to reset the combadges to our private frequency with no problem. Are you ready for pick up?"

Narve glanced around the room, then down at Beverly's body. "Oh yes," he replied softly. "More than ready. Narve out." _Hope you enjoyed the show, Picard,_ he thought gleefully to his mental captive, the first sign of true emotion he'd shown since his sickening joy at finally having Crusher and Picard exactly where he wanted them. _Don't worry, it isn't over yet._

Picard's roar of outrage was heard by non one except Narve, whose only response was a triumphant smile as the whine of a transporter filled the room.

They were gone.

**Betazed**

"Will?" Deanna Troi called softly into the darkened room, having finally managed to drag herself away from yet another formal reception her mother had insisted on throwing in Deanna's honor.

He was already asleep, having left the party a full hour earlier; too much Betazed hospitality, she thought fondly as she smiled down at his peacefully dozing form. She shrugged out of her filmy party dress and snuggled down next to him, not bothering to remove the elaborate headdress she had donned for the evening's festivities. Her mother had foisted it on her, but Will had admired it, as well as the elegant tumble of dark curls the headdress topped, so she decided to share it with him one last time—if, of course, she could wake him up. It would certainly be fun to try; this visit home was definitely more enjoyable than the last one had been.

She frowned at the memory. When Will had agreed to come with her the last time—had it really only been six months ago?—it had been a time of quiet convalescence for both of them, a time during which the scars of rape and possession had slowly begun to heal. During that time their friendship had blossomed, sturdier than ever. They'd returned to the _Enterprise_ after that second visit easier in their minds than when they'd left.

Many things had happened between that time and now, including a doomed love affair for each of them. She'd become involved with the leader of a colony of genetically engineered isolationists, and he'd started seeing a member of a supposedly gender-neutral race who had decided she was, in fact, a she—and very attracted to Will Riker. Allen had elected to remain with his people when they once again turned their backs on the larger universe, and Soren had been psyho-adjusted by her world's government "for her own good," not only losing her sense of being female, but also her feeling for Will.

Troi's eyes clouded as she remembered the pain of those encounters; double pain for her, since she felt Will's ache of loss as acutely as her own. But those bittersweet episodes, to her continued amazement, served only to deepen their friendship, as no casual sexual encounter ever could.

Those encounters also led to a revelation that still filled her with wonder; the fact that she still loved Will Riker, loved him intensely and passionately and—almost—unselfishly. She was truly happy for him when his feelings for Soren deepened, had wished him success in that troubled relationship. A small part of her had sighed wistfully, perhaps, but she'd easily suppressed it in light of his happiness.

It was partly his pain after that relationship had been so abruptly and unfairly terminated that prompted her to offer him the hospitality of Betazed once again, this time during the ship's refit, and partly her own desire to explore the possibilities of their relationship. Because slight though the tinges of jealousy and relief were, the fact that they even existed at all was a sign that her feelings for the only man she'd ever called "Imzadi" were far from resolved.

"Not while we're serving on the same ship," she'd told him on more than one occasion. Words that now came back to haunt her. Wasn't that the entire reason behind permitting families on board ships like the _Enterprise_? So that people in relationships could serve together, instead of having marriages destroyed and families strained past the breaking point by long-term separation? Had she only been hiding behind that as an excuse? She determined to find out, to focus for once on her own emotions and not those of others. Except, of course, for one particular other.

Once on Betazed, everything seemed to fall into place. The second night on the planet they'd gone to a restaurant Deanna's mother had recommended, and were pleasantly surprised to find that actually lived up to Lwaxana's rapturous descriptions. A perfect dinner was followed by an evening of dancing and talking and just being together. Will's first kiss had been tentative, Deanna's own reaction equally hesitant, until they'd pulled back to look into each other's eyes. At that moment, Deanna knew exactly how she felt; all the doubts and confusion fell by the wayside at the feeling of loved she sensed from him. And at the equal feeling that arose in her own heart.

"Imzadi." Startled, still half-caught up in the pleasant memory of rediscovered love, Deanna looked down to see Will's warm hazel eyes looking up at her. She hadn't even realized he was awake, too busy concentrating on past emotions to sense ones belonging to the here and now.

She leaned forward to offer him a kiss, but hesitated. Something was off; faintly, as if from far away, she could sense an urgent need aimed directly at her. Before she could do anything to respond to that need, however, Will pulled her down for a passionate kiss.

Deanna never even felt the phase Larsch used to blast her into unconsciousness.

**The** _**Enterprise** _

Ensign Ro Laren broke into a smile as she sighted the door to her quarters, sighing with relief. She pushed her short, dark hair back behind her ears and scratched absently at the ridges on her nose as she regarded that unremarkable portal. Shore leave was over, and here she was, back home. That thought brought her up short; when had the _Enterprise_ become home? Sometime over the past year and a half she'd stopped thinking of the ship as her latest stop-over and started thinking of it as the place she belonged. She'd never expected that, never expected that she would ever again have a place and a people that meant so much to her. Coming home to the _Enterprise_ meant coming home to people who cared about her, people she cared about in return. It was a good feeling, one she hadn't had since childhood, and then only briefly. Her youth in the Bajoran refugee camps had been filled with too much turmoil and bitterness.

Not that things were perfect on the ship, she quickly reminded herself, but she'd never felt the urge to run away and never look back, another new feeling for her. Perhaps she wasn't that interested in taking the assignment Starfleet had recently offered, to act as Bajoran liaison on the former Cardassian space station recently re-christened Deep Space 9. Chief O'Brien and his family had transferred there four months ago, so Miles could take over as Chief of Operations, and there was a Bajoran Major acting as temporary liaison until she made up her mind. She had another month to reach a decision, and that alone told her how much Starfleet wanted her in that position. "You've come a long way from the Starfleet stockade," she murmured to herself wryly. "Guess they finally decided to trust you." Of course, Captain Picard had trusted her first; shouldn't her first loyalty remain with him?

Still ruminating on these things, she keyed in the code to open the door and strode into her quarters, tossing her shoulder bag onto the nearest chair before calling for the lights. She stretched, then turned to key the privacy lock on her door, wanting a few more hours to herself before anyone came looking for a pinochle partner or another warm body for a holodeck adventure.

Data was standing next to the door. Ro barely had time to do more than register his unexpected presence before he moved forward, grasped her wrists and slammed her against the bulkhead, all in one blindingly fast motion. "Greetings, Ensign Ro Laren."

While Ro struggled to catch her breath, Data pressed his body against hers in a manner that completely eliminated any opportunity for attack or escape. One hand continued to hold both her wrists in a painful grip, while the other reached down and ripped her communicator badge from her chest. He flung it across the room as Ro resorted to her only means of alerting anyone that something was wrong. "Computer–" she managed to shout before Data grabbed her by the throat, choking off the rest of her words.

"Naughty," he said in a chiding voice, easing his hold enough for her to regain her breath. "Not that it matters; it won't answer to you, and there's no one free on this ship to help you." His face was close to hers, close enough for her to see the expression of cruel enjoyment on his face. "I believe we have some unfinished business. Did you miss me?"

Verek waited until her eyes widened in outraged recognition, then smiled. "No games this time, my dear Laren," he purred. "Your hands aren't going anywhere they're not supposed to." He squeezed slightly, to emphasize his point, waiting until she grimaced with pain before easing his grasp. "Narve told me to bring you to the others, but he didn't say I had to do it right away."

As he swooped in for a brutal, possessive kiss, Ro Laren knew with a hollow feeling of panic that she was trapped in a nightmare.


	3. Waking Nightmares

"Alexander is still with your parents?"

Worf nodded in response to Selar's question. They had beamed on board at roughly the same time and were heading down the corridor toward the turbolifts. "He will be visiting with my parents for two more weeks. We spent much of our leave visiting my brother, so when he asked to remain on Earth a little longer, I allowed it. The school year does not officially begin until then, anyway." It still felt strange to be raising a child on the ship, but Worf was adjusting. "My parents were happy to keep him. It has been six months since they last saw him."

Selar nodded her understanding, both of what he was saying and what was left unsaid. Six months ago the _Enterprise_ had been invaded by the self-styled "League of Uxmal Pirates." A traumatic time for all involved. "It is logical that he would choose to remain with them, and that they would wish to keep him with them," she said. "I am sure they will enjoy the opportunity to become...reacquainted." For the first time in her life, the Vulcan doctor put herself off-balance by speaking words without first considering their meaning. Worf might misunderstand her, might believe that she was referring to someone other than his son and parents...or he might understand it quite well, she admitted to herself. Because that was exactly what she had been doing.

Not only had it been six months since the attack on the ship, it had been six months since she'd been on active duty. She'd requested an extended leave of absence in order to return to Vulcan, ostensibly to study, but she knew as well as Captain Picard that it had also been because of the invasion of the ship by the League of Uxmal Pirates. Although she had remained relatively unharmed, both physically and mentally, the same was untrue for the man standing next to her.

Worf, like the other male prisoners, had been under the mental domination of one of the entities. An entity that had made some declarations that disturbed Selar's self-possession. Those declarations in turn had disturbed Worf's self-possession to the point that he felt compelled to tender an apology to her for those words. Or at least the manner in which they had been spoken to her. What had been most disturbing to Selar had been Worf's diffident admission that the pirate had taken the thoughts literally from Worf's own subconscious. Selar apparently reminded Worf, at least physically, of his dead mate K'Eyhlar, which point the entity had pointed out in a manner that could only be termed "gleeful." Worf had admitted as much, then had surprised her by further stating that the resemblance was only part of the reason he was attracted to her.

Her reaction to this admission was the real reason she'd gone to the Vulcan Science Academy Center for Healing and Medical Arts; she'd been startled. Intrigued. Pleased. Almost, she'd said something to Worf, asked him to elaborate, but her usual reticence stopped her before the words passed her lips. Selar never acted impulsively, or at least, she never used to.

Now, here she was, walking next to Worf, speaking impulsively, even after so long a hiatus immersed in research and the coolly logical minds of her Vulcan colleagues. Apparently his ability to fluster her remained unchanged. Interesting.

They entered the turbo lift in silence, but it was Worf who broke that silence. "Getting reacquainted can be difficult." He was looking at the door, rather than at her, but as she turned to look he did as well. His deep brown eyes met hers squarely. "I did not realize how much I would miss you while you were gone."

Selar allowed the corner of her lips to quirk upwards in acknowledgment of his words, although she refused to admit to the flutter of pleasure those words caused. "I would be pleased if you would share some refreshments with me before we return to duty." More impulsive words; Selar decided not to concern herself with her uncharacteristic behavior unless it affected her while on duty. Or while visiting home; her conservative Vulcan mother would certainly not approve. She found herself wondering with a distinct feeling mischief how she would react if her only daughter brought home a Klingon husband…

"I would be pleased to join you. That is, if you are not too tired," Worf added hastily. He seemed as uncertain as Selar, which had the effect of steadying her. Of crystallizing her tentative conclusions.

"Worf, if we are to initiate the relationship we are both contemplating, we must first continue the process of becoming reacquainted."

Worf nodded solemnly. "Perhaps you are right," he replied, proving to Selar's satisfaction that she had not misjudged the situation.

They continued in silence to Ten Forward. Selar found herself much more comfortable now that they had embarked on the next, logical phase of their relationship, but she could tell that Worf wasn't, not yet. In spite of their passionate natures, Klingons tended to be cautious in the area of selecting a mate, and she knew Worf well enough to understand that was exactly what he would expect: formal bonding at some point, nothing casual. Which was also the Vulcan way. It was curious how similar Vulcans and Klingons actually were, much more similar than others, especially members of their respective races, would like to believe. In her opinion, Klingons simply had yet to discover the path to mastering their emotions.

Worf was nervous, although he hoped it didn't show. After K'Eyhlar's death, he hadn't permitted himself to contemplate forming an emotional attachment to another woman. But ever since their encounter with the League of Uxmal Pirates, the Vulcan doctor walking next to him had been on his mind. If he was honest, he would be forced to admit she'd been on his mind even before then, but he'd tried to ignore his growing interest in her as more than a fellow crewmember. The fact that she appeared to harbor similar thoughts was surprising, but gratifying. The one thing he hated most about initiating intimate relationships was the uncertainty. Selar, with typical Vulcan forthrightness, had eliminated that concern.

They entered Ten Forward and automatically headed for a table, then stopped as they simultaneously realized something was wrong. Guinan wasn't there, but she wasn't due back for a few more days. The problem was that no one else was their, either, a situation Guinan would never tolerate. Ten Forward was always open, and there was always someone on duty as long as there was a single _Enterprise_ crew member needing to be served.

"Perhaps Rico is in the store room," Selar suggested tentatively, naming Guinan's second in command as the most likely candidate to be in charge during her absence. Not that she believed her own suggestion for a minute; whether you called it logic or instinct, something about the emptiness of Ten Forward, especially at the end of a long-term crew absence, seemed wrong.

Worf merely grunted; it was obvious he believed that possibility about as much as she did. Without speaking, he jerked his head to indicate the door, and they started backing toward it.

They never reached the dubious safety of the corridor. Although some instinct warned Worf to turn at the last minute, it was too late. Twin phaser bursts took them both out instantly, knocking them unconscious to the floor before they even had a chance to see who shot them.

**oOo**

Selar came to rapid consciousness, but kept her breathing slow and even and her eyes closed as she assessed the situation without alerting her assailant to the fact that she was awake. A hand on her chin, jerking her head upward, told her that subterfuge was futile, so she opened her eyes and looked at her captor.

It was Worf. He smiled hungrily down at her as she jerked her chin out of his grasp, the smile turning to laughter as she pushed herself away from his crouching form. He watched as she pulled herself to her feet and stood with her back against the wall, studying him. Worf had not fired the phaser shot that had taken her down; in the split second before unconsciousness overtook her, she had seen him fall. Someone else had been responsible for the attack, and since Worf's reaction was atypical, logic forced her to the conclusion that something had happened to him during that time.

"I never got a chance with you last time, but Narve says I get my choice this time. So I picked you." Worf's face and form, Worf's voice, but not Worf's words.

Selar's voice remained steady as she spoke. "Peris. How...unfortunate."

He laughed again, casually jumping to his feet. Selar took that moment to exam their surroundings, but no longer. It would be unwise to remove her attention from Peris for longer than that. By the layout and emptiness of the room, she ascertained that they were in unused quarters somewhere on one of the crew decks. A bed on one side, table and chairs on the other, the entrance to the bathroom behind Peris and a closet no doubt behind herself. Nothing to use as a weapon save her own abilities. Peris had never struck her as the most intelligent of Narve's pirates, but he had access to Worf's mind and memories and knew how difficult it was to perform a nerve pinch on a Klingon, knew about Vulcan strength and mental abilities...

"I wouldn't bother if I were you." Peris interrupted her analysis of the situation, gloating, a swagger in his step as he moved closer and leaned a casual arm against the bulkhead behind her. His grinning face came within inches of her own. "I know all your tricks, Vulcan. You may be strong, but I'm stronger, and Worf knows you're not the strongest telepath, either. You may as well just give up."

"You speak in cliches," Selar said coolly. "However," she conceded, casting her eyes modestly downward, "you are also correct. Struggling against overwhelming odds would be illogical." She allowed him to put Worf's hand to her cheek, anticipating the sudden tug on her hair and moving her head a fraction of a second before he could jerk it back. She suffered through his kiss long enough to snake her own hands around his neck in apparent acquiescence.

Her fingers tightened when they reached certain spots on either side of his neck, twisting viciously at nerve centers only recently identified by the Vulcan Science Academy as being vulnerable to a variation on the nerve pinch. It wasn't information she had expected to find of use, certainly not this soon after learning it. When Worf fell to her feet, stunned and nearly unconscious, the look of surprise on his face could almost be considered comical–if one weren't a Vulcan, of course.

Not that Selar wasted any time on studying Worf before yanking the phaser from his loosened grasp and hurling herself through the door and into the corridor, weapon at the ready. Nor did she bother waiting to see if Peris was expelled by the trauma of the attack. No information was available as to the minimum level of pain required to free someone from the influence of an Uxmalian; all the hurts done to their hosts last time had been much grosser than a Vulcan nerve pinch, even one as unrefined as the one she had just performed.

She made her silent way down the deserted corridor, every sense straining, part of her attention on the concern that Peris might have recovered enough to try and follow her, the rest on remaining out of th way of any of his cohorts. Until she understood the situation a little better, she would have to treat anyone she encountered as an enemy. It was obvious that Narve and his pirates had the ship completely under their control, which meant she either had to escape or summon help by sending a communication detailing as much of the situation as she understood as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence. Under the circumstances, she forgave herself the use of the cliche.

She turned another corridor, freezing momentarily at the sound of approaching voices. She ducked back around the corner, having noted every possible hiding place during her short journey, and made her way back to the nearest one as stealthily as possible.

Not stealthily enough. Her foot bumped against the wall as she misjudged the distance, and in the dead silence the small noise sounded as loud as a phaser blast. She held her breath, the better to hear if anyone had noticed.

A nearby shout told her the answer to that question. Abandoning stealth in favor of speed, she turned and raced back down the way she'd come.

A door opened; without pausing in her flight, she aimed a phaser blast at the occupant. Friend or foe, it didn't matter; the phaser was set on heavy stun, and she would explain or apologize as necessary. Later. First, it was imperative she evade recapture.

Another door opened, another phaser blast aimed at the opening, but this time the occupant was ready for her. Peris. Of course. He hurtled himself at her ankles in a low dive. Selar fell to the deck with a grunt, the phaser flying from her hand as it struck the carpeted flooring. She fought as hard as she could; there was no way she would make this easy for any of them, but especially not for Peris. He affronted her, using the body of a man she was embarking on a relationship with, using that man's own mind against him, and he offended her as well with his crass obviousness. Narve, at least, had been all business when it came to the subject of rape; Peris all too obviously relished the thought of forcing himself on her.

Not this time. She gouged at his eyes, her fingers clawed for maximum damage, and he howled with pain, cursing her in a language she didn't recognize. The tone, at least, was unmistakable. Before she could attack again, however, she felt the cool touch of a phaser against the back of her neck and froze, only her eyes moving as she sought to identify this newest threat.

"Peris, shut your hole and get up." Geordi LaForge's voice was cold, his face unreadable behind his metal VISER. "You, stay put." He pressed harder with the phaser in case she didn't realize he was talking to her, and Selar obeyed. That cold, quiet voice was more dangerous than Peris at his most menacing.

Peris pushed his way out from under her, wiping blood from his cheeks and the corner of his left eye. Good, she'd done more damage than she originally thought. "I had it under control," he whined.

"Sure you did." That same flat, uninflected voice cut Peris' complaints off before they could begin. "You were supposed to take her to the detention center."

"Narve said I could pick who I wanted this time." The whine turned defensive. "You heard him, Mylal-"

"Yeah, I heard him, but you and I both know he meant after we got under way, not while we're still docked in the Sol system," Mylal cut in, sounding bored. "Besides, you're supposed to be part of the witch hunt."

"But Mylal..." Peris stopped as Mylal half raised his free hand. The phaser shifted slightly in his grasp, but Selar didn't make the mistake of believing now would be a good time to try and escape. She waited until Mylal indicated she should rise to her feet, then did so, nothing the presence of Ensign Singh standing next to Narve's Third, his phaser pointed at her as well. Peris picked up the weapon she had dropped, and she allowed herself to concede defeat. This time. But there would be another time and place, and she would make certain to be ready for it.

"You're overdue at the shuttle bay, Peris, and you know how well Narve tolerates delays." Peris gulped audibly at the threat behind his superior's words. "Mast is waiting, and he's not very patient, either."

"All right, I'm going," Peris muttered, turning away in defeat. But not before glaring a promise at Selar, who merely raised an eyebrow as he trotted away.

"Take her to the others," Mylal growled to Singh, who nodded and shoved the phaser into her back. Selar obediently headed down the corridor as he took her arm.

She would bide her time.

For now.


	4. The Big Picture

**Somewhere In Space**

Crusher struggled for consciousness, wondering vaguely why her head ached so much. _I thought Risa used synthehol,_ she thought blearily, opening her eyes a crack. Her arms and legs ached as much as her head; what on earth had she been drinking last night? She concentrated on getting her eyes to focus; a look at her surroundings might help her memory.

She wasn't in the hotel room she and Jean-Luc had taken, and she wasn't in her familiar quarters on the _Enterprise_. The small room she gazed at was completely unfamiliar to her. She struggled to rise, only to make the shocking discovery that her hands and feet were securely bound. She wiggled her feet forward enough to see that they were tied with a piece of familiar-looking cord. Hadn't she seen it somewhere recently, wrapped around a package?

Memory returned in a flood as she stared down at herself in stunned disbelief. Narve. Somehow, Narve and his crew of exiled pirates had escaped. Again. _Successfully_ , she silently corrected herself, fighting down panic. Time to take stock of the situation, put that valuable Starfleet training to use.

She looked at her surroundings more carefully, noting the details this time that told her she was on board a ship of some kind. She could feel the almost-silent thrum of warp engines, could see the slight curve to the bulkheads, the way the furniture was securely attached and arranged for maximum efficiency. A small ship, then. The room held the bed she was laying on, a desk hinged to the wall, and a small chair beneath it that swung out on a hinge when it needed to be used. The door was located next to the desk, and was opening even as she noted its position.

The doctor struggled to raise herself from her supine position. Whoever was coming through that door was definitely not a friend, and she had no desire to put herself at any more of a disadvantage than she already was.

"Ah, good, you're awake." Picard's voice rang with mock cheer as Crusher managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, leaning awkwardly against the bulkhead. Narve had changed into a black jumpsuit with a vaguely militaristic look to it, something harsh and unyielding. As harsh and unyielding as the pirate commander's eyes. "I apologize for the rather crude method I had to employ to silence you, but I doubt I could have convinced the hotel staff your screams were those of passion."

"How did you escape?" Crusher demanded, ignoring his insincere apology. He might not have enjoyed hitting her the way Verek would have, but he certainly didn't regret it.

Narve shook his head, a mocking smile distorting Picard's features into something alien. "You like to get right to the point, don't you? Well, I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Let's just say that there are many spacefaring races that find a warn-off beacon incredibly difficult to resist. Some don't grasp the implications, some are thrill seekers, and some," he smiled an evil smile, "are just plain greedy. I've never been a Ferengi before; it was quite an experience," he mused, then looked down at himself. "But I must say I prefer a human body, it's a little more similar to our own." Crusher filed _that_ interesting point away for future reference. "And this one in particular suits me quite well; I've grown rather fond of it."

Before Crusher could blurt out the angry retort she felt building in her throat, Narve pressed his lips against hers. "Just as I've grown fond of this body," he whispered, stroking her arm possessively.

Crusher jerked herself away from his touch, only preventing herself from spitting in his face by the sure knowledge that he would consider it a reason to "teach her a lesson." Her reaction only seemed to amuse the pirate; he grinned briefly, then frowned and reached down to the top of one boot, pulling out a dagger. Crusher couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips before she clamped her mouth tightly shut; it was just the type of reaction Narve seemed to enjoy, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Making you nervous, am I?" he asked, turning the knife so the blade caught the light, glinting with silver fire. "Don't worry, it's not intended for this," he taunted as he moved closer and slid the cold steel lightly across her throat. A thin line of blood followed the blade's path as he moved it down to her ankles to slice through the cord. Then he yanked her around so he could reach her wrists, holding them tightly in one hand after the cord there had been severed.

"Don't try anything," he whispered coldly, his breath so close to her face she could feel her hair stir with every word. "Don't even think about it. I've been handling knives like this my whole life; I doubt very much that you could get it away from me." He touched the weapon lightly to the nape of her neck, and Crusher shivered again as she nodded, ever so slightly, to acknowledge the threat.

She believed every word he spoke. When he pulled the knife away and released her hands, she brought them forward and rubbed her wrists where the cord had chafed. Satisfied that she would be no trouble, at least for now, Narve wiped the knife along the carpet and returned the blade to its hiding place in his boot with a smooth movement that indicated he hadn't been exaggerating his expertise.

Crusher reached up and gingerly felt at the shallow wound on her neck, grimacing at the blood that came away on her fingertips. She ignored Narve as much as she could, under the circumstances, concentrating on the circulation now returning painfully to her hands and feet. He was sitting intimately close to her on the bed, watching her with a faint, amused smile hovering about his lips. A smile that failed to reach his eyes. She avoided them the most; all the humanity was burned out of them in the cold light of Asrun Narve's alien presence.

"What do you want?" she finally asked, once the blood in her extremities had returned and the painful tingling subsided. She pressed the corner of her loose top to her throat to stop the bleeding, ducking her head awkwardly but thankful she could thus continue to avoid his eyes.

Narve's smile deepened. "Come now, Beverly," he purred. "Surely you know what I want." His gaze lingered on her body, and she felt herself flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

"You wanted off your prison planet," she continued doggedly, trying to keep the conversation on a different level. "You've achieved that. So why take such a risk in kidnapping Starfleet officers? Why not just leave? We will be missed," she pointed out.

"No, you won't," Narve contradicted her. "After I re-appropriated the good Captain's body, I returned to the hotel and told them to send our belongings to the _Enterprise_ after we 'checked out.' After that, as far as Starfleet is concerned, we reported to the ship a little ahead of schedule, like the dutiful officers we are. All nice and official."

"But why us?" Crusher allowed her bewilderment to show, in her face and her voice. "You've got your freedom, why go to all this trouble when you could have just returned home without risking being found out by Starfleet?"

"Freedom isn't all we want." Narve's voice held an edge, the first overt sign of emotion he'd allowed her to see. "We could have simply kept the Ferengi vessel and gone our way, but that isn't how my men and I do things. We aren't cowards; we don't run from a fight. You ruined our plans the first time we escaped, and so we sought revenge. Thanks to you and your captain, we're about to have it all."

"How?" The question was involuntary, but Crusher needed to know, even as she realized she wouldn't like the answer. If she received one.

Narve appeared to be in a cooperative mood. "How do you think, Doctor? It took a lot of time and planning, but we found out your schedule, who was due to return to your ship immediately after the refit. While I was taking care of your precious Jean-Luc, my men were taking care of the rest of the crew. By the time I had you on board this ship, we'd already received word that the _Enterprise_ was under our control. We're on our way to rendezvous with it now."

"We stopped you the first time," Crusher snapped. "And we'll damned well do it again."

Narve's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I don't think so," he said softly. "Your bartender won't be around this time to interfere." His eyes grew impossibly colder. "My best assassin, Mast, is going to take care of that damned witch once and for all."

Crusher tried not to let her fear show in her eyes. If Narve was cold, Mast was ice itself in human form. She suppressed a chill at the thought of him stalking Guinan, reminding herself that the alien bartender had tangled with Q and the Borg and survived to tell about it. Surely Mast wouldn't be beyond her ability to deal with! "It sounds like you've got everything covered," she said slowly.

"I'd like to think so," Narve acknowledged. "Careful planning has gotten us this far. Once we have the ship safely out of Federation territory…" he shrugged. "The possibilities are endless." His eyes glinted with an emotion Crusher was in no hurry to identify, and he leaned closer to her. "We don't rendezvous with the ship for several hours," he said in a near whisper that chilled her more than any amount of yelling would have. "However shall we pass the time until then?"

There was no longer mistaking the glint in his eyes as he pulled her closer, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Not this time.

And if he was right, not ever.


	5. Damsels In Distress

**Earth**

Guinan wasn't normally one for shore leave, vacations, whatever you wanted to call time off from her self-imposed starship duties, but the ship's five-year refit was an exception. She found herself at loose ends, with nothing in particular to do and no one to do it with. Cpt. Picard had finally made a quasi-public declaration of his personal relationship with Dr. Crusher by making no secret of the fact that they were meeting each on Risa, which left reminiscing about old times off her list of Things To Do While On Vacation.

Instead, she went to Earth. It had been literally hundreds of years since she'd been there, and she knew she would enjoy a quiet game of "I remember when there was a building here" and "look what they've done to the place since the 1890s." It would be fun, she decided, and so it proved.

Until her last day. The day Mast tried to kill her.

**oOo**

Guinan was walking down a street in a picturesque town near San Francisco. She wasn't sure what street it was; it was near the cliffs, there were people on it and shops lining it, and that was all she needed to know. That, and the fact that she was actually feeling some regret that she would be leaving in the morning, returning to the ship she currently called home.

Her intuition was the first thing to warn her; something was wrong. A quick glance around confirmed that someone was following her. As she casually turned to look into a shop window, she saw the tall form of an _Enterprise_ security guard turn away so swiftly she would have doubted she'd seen him at all if her intuition wasn't currently screaming at her to get away.

More worrying than such atypical behavior from someone she knew was the blood-freezingly familiar purplish-red aura haloing his form.

How the _hell_ had Mast gotten free?

She didn't bother trying to answer that question, not now. Now, she was in danger, every instinct she owned was screaming at her, and didn't hesitate to act as those instincts told her to. She ducked into a shop that carried fabric and sewing needs for those who preferred unreplicated clothing. Her expression remained serene to a casual viewer, but she knew her lips had tightened and that her eyes were narrowed in concentration.

Mast was free. Mast was on Earth. Mast was stalking her. Therefore Mast's crewmates must also be free, Narve and all the rest of them. Free, and seeking vengeance. She'd stood in their way, now they sought to keep her from doing so again. Like lightning to a tree, her mind instantly came to the correct conclusion; they wanted the ship again, if they didn't already have it. She was alone on Earth, the ship was preparing to leave space dock, and the crew was even now in the process of reporting back to duty a full week before their civilian families and co-workers were supposed to join them. Hijacking their bodies would be a piece of cake under these circumstances.

These thoughts flashed through Guinan's mind in the time it took her to enter the shop, note its contents, and move toward one of the overflowing tables near the back. She picked up a piece of metallic silver fabric, staring at it critically before returning it to the table and moving toward the shelves bracketing the discreet door labeled "Employees Only." She allowed herself only the briefest of grim smiles as she did so. She hadn't survived Q and the Borg and countless other threats thrown at her by the Universe only to be taken out by some body-snatching parasite from the Uxmal Galaxy.

Especially since they did not appear to appreciate the value of a good Listener.

**The** _**Enterprise** _

Seventy-five women had been herded into a secondary cargo bay, like so many reluctant sheep. Ensign Ro scanned the room, forcing her mind away from recent events through sheer force of will. Living under the heel of the Cardassians had given her the ability to distance herself, however temporarily, from personal tragedy. It was a survival trait, the ability to shove her emotions aside until a convenient time to process them.

"None of the other prisoners have been injured." Ro swung around as Dr. Selar spoken, returning her attention to the small group huddled in the corner. Dr. Selar, Counselor Troi, Dr. Crusher, and herself, all standing with their backs literally against the wall. They were the only ones who had been singled out for "special" treatment, according to the others she'd spoken to. They all agreed with Selar's earlier assessment, that it was because they'd been instrumental in foiling the pirates' first attempt to steal the ship and its crew. Them, and one other...

"Has anyone seen Guinan?" That was Crusher, holding herself very stiffly, ignoring the injuries to her neck, wrists and ankles, the most obvious injuries any of them had suffered. Ro knew her own neck was decorated with finger-shaped bruises, and she still found it difficult to speak above a whisper. It would have been obvious that Crusher had been taken while still on Risa, even if she hadn't already confirmed that was where she and the captain had been ambushed; she was wearing only rumpled blue shorts and a matching top and was barefoot. She had just been brought into the room moments before, Ro quickly bringing her to join the others as Selar had requested.

"I do not believe Guinan will be joining us," the Vulcan doctor replied. Like Ro and the majority of the other prisoners, she was in uniform, her smooth black hair rumpled for the first time Ro ever remembered seeing. "They would consider her a threat, and very likely unsuitable for their secondary reason for choosing their current captives."

Ro braced herself. Crusher was the only one of the prisoners not to undergo the "process," as Selar coolly referred to the humiliating and painful search they'll all undergone before being let loose in the confines of the cargo bay. Humiliating, painful, and purposeful...

"Secondary reason?" Crusher frowned, glancing over at Troi.

The Counselor was also in civilian clothes, a gauzy party dress that had no doubt once been lovely. She was as shoeless as Crusher, her hair tumbling down her bare shoulders in a disarray that would be repaired only by diligent use of a hairbrush and comb, neither of which was currently available. Nevertheless, she radiated a calm that Ro envied, even though she suspected it was as much a front as her own stoic demeanor. "When Dr. Selar and I were brought in, we were scanned and searched physically. They removed anything they thought might be used as a weapon, including all jewelry." Ro's hand went to her ear involuntarily; it had stopped bleeding but still ached. The pirates hadn't been gentle in removing her earring.

When Troi faltered, obviously searching for the best way to tell the next part, Selar stepped in, smoothly taking up the narrative. "After that, we were forced to examine and remove all contraceptive devices from our fellow captives, as well as each other. When we initially resisted, they shot Ensign Shalla from Engineering. They said they'd been ordered to make an example of her if we resisted in any way. She was brought to Sickbay," Selar added. "Her injuries were serious but quickly treated." She nodded toward the door. "She is there now, with her sister Viarra." The twins hadn't even been on board the ship the last time the Uxmalians had taken it over.

"They removed contraceptive devices and had you examine everyone for what? Childbearing capabilities?" Crusher asked, her voice incredulous.

Troi nodded. "If the Uxmalians intend, as before, to return to their home galaxy, such a journey would take hundreds of years. No one on board would live long enough..."

"So they need breeding stock," Ro finished, her voice harsh, raspy, but clear.

"Breeding stock," Crusher repeated, her voice and face reflecting the loathing she felt at such a concept. "They'll force us to have children, then take over those children's bodies whenever they want to..." This time she was the one unable to go on, with Selar, relentlessly logical, reaching the conclusion.

"They will bring our daughters up to bear more children, and our sons to be nothing more than future hosts. And they will no doubt eliminate any they consider extraneous to their needs."

The others looked as sick as Ro felt. She'd understood the implications of the removal of her contraceptive device and brusque medical exam, but hadn't allowed herself to follow to the logical conclusion Selar had so brutally pointed out. Extraneous offspring would be eliminated, and so, too, would they once their usefulness was at an end.

**Earth**

Guinan ducked through the small door and followed the narrow corridor to the back room of the shop as smoothly as if she'd traveled that route a hundred times. She didn't expect this tactic to throw Mast off her track, just hoped it would buy her a little time. Time to think, time to plan. He'd followed her into the shop, abandoning any attempt at evasion once he realized she'd recognized him. Even though she'd waited until she was temporarily blocked from his view by an influx of customers, she knew it wouldn't take him more than seconds to figure out where she'd vanished to.

She startled a pair of employees on break as she hurried through the small back room, not bothering to say anything as she focused on the back door. They half-rose to their feet as she passed, but she kept going and was out the door before they could do or say anything more. Mast would be following, and she had to put more distance between them as quickly as possible.

Guinan sped down the alleyway that ran the length of the row of attached buildings she'd just left, her mind working at lightning speed as she tried to orient herself. Both the alley she was in and the quiet side street she was fairly certain it opened onto were the worst possible places to be when Mast inevitably caught up with her; the busy street she'd abandoned earlier was safer. The assassin was unlikely to act in front of so many witnesses. If she could just keep ahead of him, long enough to throw him off her trail, to be able to take the time and spare the concentration to mask her presence, she would be able to escape and report his presence to the local Starfleet authorities.

There was a sound behind her, and she increased her speed, sparing a moment to glance over her shoulder. Mast was coming, had caught up to her faster than she anticipated. Guinan lowered her head and hunched her shoulders as she sped up, running flat out, expecting at any moment to feel a phaser blast. It never came. Mast didn't seem to be in any hurry to catch up to her, and it wasn't long before she found out why.

She'd reached a dead end. Guinan skidded to a disbelieving halt as she faced, not the street she'd expected, but instead the shimmer of a low-level force field. She'd run toward the cliffs by mistake. And now she was trapped.

The sound of approaching footsteps told her just how much of a dead end this was. Her mind raced as she took in her situation, looking rapidly around, noting the location of the force field controls just above shoulder level on the wall next to her, the lack of doorways, even the roughness of the cobblestones beneath her feet. With all that in mind, she turned and prepared to the do the only thing she could. Clearing her mind, she concentrated on what she had to do.

No sign of emotion crossed Mast's borrowed face as he turned the corner and saw his prey. Trapped, as he'd anticipated, with no where to go. She knew it, too; her eyes snapped open and she bit her lip as she spotted him, and the phaser he now held at the ready. Aimed at her. She backed away from him, one hand trailing along the wall as if to brace herself. If he'd been the fanciful kind, he might have imagined he smelled the fear rolling off her, fear that shone so clearly in her eyes and body language even as she fought to keep it from her expression. Imagination, however, had never been one of his weaknesses. He was a killer, good at his job, taking a quiet satisfaction in his skill but never more than that. Because of this lack of emotion, the centuries of imprisonment he and his crewmates had just escaped weighed less heavily on him than any of the others, including Narve.

Control of his own emotions meant he was equally adept at dealing with his host's emotions; he would never lose control the way Verek had during their first escape attempt. Even Narve had no idea how easy it was for Mast to ignore the emotional outbursts of others, simply because he was not subject to them himself.

Not even now, when he was about to kill an enemy that had caused so much trouble for him, who had been behind the riot in Ten Forward that had allowed the women to escape, did he feel more than a fleeting sense of satisfaction. He was completing his assigned mission, not exacting personal vengeance. Even if he had been acting from such emotion, Guinan was going to be just as dead when he finished with her. He raised the phaser.

Guinan stared at him, her face and body tense as she lifted her arms in a warding gesture...

...and slapped her hands down on a control panel she'd been concealing behind one sleeve, lowering the force field and launching herself over the cliff in a move that startled Mast with its speed as well as its desperation. He wasted no more than a single blink of an eye before he, too, was in motion, his body moving even as his mind continued to process what he'd just seen. His hand was already aiming the phaser with the same careful precision he brought to all his assignments. As he watched Guinan's body disintegrate in the phaser beam, he gave a tiny nod of approval. She hadn't plead for her life, hadn't tried bargaining or bribery; nor had she wept or screamed. Instead, she tried the only thing she could. One last attempt at escape.

A failed attempt. He noted the churning surf below, the jagged rocks at the bottom of the sheer cliff face that she would never have been able to escape, even in the unlikely event that his shot missed. Even if she had landed, he would have found a way to follow, to destroy her body rather than leave anything to chance.

He stood for a moment longer, then holstered his phaser as emotionlessly as he had used it. Pressing his comm badge, he spoke. "Mast here. Mission accomplished."

"Good." Worf's voice was thick with satisfaction, almost unrecognizable through the gloating tone. "We'll meet you at the shuttle. Peris out."

Mast carefully restored the force field, then turned and walked briskly down the alley without a backward glance.


	6. Boarding Party

Mast disappeared around the corner. Behind him, a figure stirred, then stepped out of the darkness of a nearby doorway once it was clear he was gone and not coming back.

Guinan raised a shaking hand to wipe the sweat beaded on her forehead, then sprinted down the alleyway after Mast. It was a strain to use her abilities so soon after masking herself and creating a false image for the assassin to "kill", but she had no other choice. _I'm getting too old for this,_ she thought. _Way, way too old._

Putting such useless thoughts behind her, she quickened her pace. Mast was just ahead, and she concentrated on just being part of the crowd. It was a particularly useful skill, the ability to blend in with a crowd while at the same time keeping an individual from realizing they were being watched. She'd narrowly escaped death this time, and she was determined not to be caught off guard again.

Now, the only trick was how she was going to get back to the _Enterprise_. Following Mast was all well and good, but if he transported anywhere she was out of options. She was betting on him having a shuttle nearby; all she could do now was keep an eye on him and hope for the best. If she lost him, her next step would be to contact Starfleet Command and alert them to the situation. If she had the time to spare, she would do it now, but she knew once she was on the comm system it would be too late; Mast would be gone, and along with him any chance of finding out exactly what the Uxmalians were up to. That the _Enterprise_ was involved, she had no doubt; why else take over another of her crewmembers?

So all she had to do was follow him, get aboard the ship without getting caught, alert Starfleet, stop whatever the pirates were planning, help rescue the crewmembers whose bodies' they'd taken over, and make sure no one was killed in the process.

"Piece of cake," she muttered sourly.

 **The** _**Enterprise** _

"Mast is aboard," Larsch reported, swiveling around to face Narve. "He confirms that the witch is dead."

Narve nodded; he'd expected nothing short of success where his chosen assassin was concerned. "Good. That's one less complication." He smiled. "Now we can put our plans into action and get the hell out of this galaxy. Is everyone on board?" He glanced at Verek.

His Second nodded. "The entire crew is aboard, all 150 present and accounted for. Also the 75 women in Cargo Bay 3. The rest of the crew were secured as ordered."

The remaining _Enterprise_ crew had been stranded on a small moon in an out-of-the-way system. Once the ship was safely under way, an automatic distress signal would be sent out, allowing them to be rescued. Verek had protested, reminding Narve of leaving a live enemy at your back. Narve had countered with the blunt truth: if they killed hundreds of Federation citizens, Starfleet would be relentless in seeking justice for the deaths, and the penalties would be more severe than those exacted for mere kidnapping and hijacking. Obliteration, perhaps, rather than mere return to exile. "No mass murders," he'd stated, and Verek had backed down, especially after Narve added: "Not in this galaxy, at least." That had more than satisfied his bloodthirsty Second, the promise of vengeance to be wreaked on those who had imprisoned and exiled them to this remote and primitive area.

Verek spoke up once more. "Starfleet believes the entire crew is on board, and we're supposed to head out on a short diplomatic mission before the families are due to return."

"Then by all means, let us head out," Narve replied, his cold smile matching that of his Second. "Mr. Larsch, you know what to do."

Larsch had stubbornly insisted on reoccupying Riker's body, even after the trouble he'd had maintaining control over his host's mind the last time, and even though Riker wasn't a navigation specialist the way Larsch was. Narve was willing to overlook the first fact, as long as Larsch could maintain control better this time around, and was amused by the second. Whether he realized it consciously or not, he was broadcasting his intention to Challenge someday. Not necessarily Narve himself, but certainly Verek, his Second, or, more likely, Mylal, his Third. Mylal had opted to inhabit the Chief Engineer's body this time around in the absence of Transporter Chief O'Brien, and Narve could practically see Larsch calculating his chances every time the two them met up. It would certainly be entertaining, Narve thought, waiting to see how long it would take before Larsch found the courage, or the backing, to try.

Narve allowed none of these thoughts to show as Larsch turned back to this board and set the ship on its ostensible heading. By the time Starfleet, or anyone else for that matter, realized that their flagship was missing, it would be too late. He moved to the center seat and sank into it, luxuriating in the feel of it beneath his body, noting how well they fit together. _Chew on that, Picard,_ he smirked silently. _I have your seat, I have your ship, I have your woman, and I have your body. Everything that was yours is now mine, and this time you won't get it back. Ever._ "It's time this Storm returned, and time, perhaps for this ship to be rechristened. We agreed on _Stormbringer,_ did we not?"

There was a shout of agreement from his men, but nothing but silence from Picard. Narve could feel the sullen resentment emanating from his host's imprisoned consciousness, and reveled in it. The name they'd chosen was perfect, both as a symbol of their former bondage, and as a not-so-subtle threat. The Storm was returning, and their galaxy would know the wrath of a Storm unbound by the restrictions of a physical body. Although their jailers hadn't intended it that way, they'd actually done the exiles a favor by separating their consciousnesses from their bodies; now, they could take over any body they chose, wreak havoc or vengeance at their leisure. They'd been granted virtual immortality as well, another unintended benefit. What had been deemed a more merciful punishment than death would spell doom for the descendents of those who had set that punishment on them.

"Course plotted in to mimic our assigned route, to be overridden at the predetermined set point to head us toward the Uxmal Galaxy," Larsch announced, interrupting Narve's musings. "ETA, approximately 297.5 years."

Narve smiled, Picard's inadvertent burst of outrage echoing through his mind just long enough for him to enjoy his prisoner's helplessness. Then, with ruthless efficiency, he shut Picard into a mental 'box,' casually thrusting him aside until he felt like tormenting him further with glimpses into the outside world.

That ability, which came so easily to Narve and some members of his crew, had proven unexpectedly difficult for the rest of his men. He'd automatically assumed that because he could do it, they would be able to manage it as well, but their last attempt at a takeover of the _Enterprise_ had proven the dangers of that assumption. One of the few who could manage was Verek, which was a relief. Verek had his faults; his control of his temper wasn't always what it should be, but at least it was his own temper he had a hard time controlling. The first time this ship had been taken, Mylal had nearly lost himself in Miles O'Brien's memories, and Larsch had barely kept Riker restrained.

This lack of control might prove to be a problem in the future; a man whose attention was split between an internal struggle for control and whatever was going on around him could be dangerous. If any of them were distracted by such a struggle during a battle, it could have disastrous results. Fortunately, they had a long journey ahead of them through intergalactic space; plenty of time for his men to perfect their control.

The hosts might struggle, the female hostages would no doubt make numerous attempts at escape, but in the end time was on his side.


	7. Control Issues

The struggle for control over a recalcitrant host mind was the furthest thing from Verek's thoughts. He was unaware of Narve's doubts in that area, too preoccupied with more personal concerns to notice those of his commander.

Verek had closed Data's admittedly powerful intellect into as effective and inescapable a box as Narve had Picard's, and took no small satisfaction in knowing he was one of the few of his commander's men that could do so. What he hadn't told Narve, however, was that he was also able to limit the outside knowledge that Data received, that the android was only an observer of outside events when and if Verek allowed him to be.

He took even more satisfaction in knowing that even Narve couldn't control Picard to that extent. Whether it was because of Verek's personal abilities or something to do with the way Data's positronic brain was partitioned, he neither knew nor cared. As long as it was something he could do and no one else could, he would keep it to himself. Knowledge was power, and even though he had no aspirations to lead this crew, neither was he foolish enough to think that his lack of ambition was shared by others. He had seen Larsch calculating his chances of Challenging Narve the last time this ship had been under their control, and he knew others felt the same way. Not that anyone had a problem with Narve, but Verek knew almost everyone thought they could run things better, given half a chance. No matter how wrong they might be; he knew that Narve was the right one to lead them. He had them now, but one slip and it could all be over. That was the way it had always been, and they accepted it. It made the game that much more exhilarating.

Or at least, it used to. Now, on the eve on almost certain success, something was bothering him, and it had taken him most of the day to pin it down.

It was the subtlety of the problem that had caused him so much difficulty, but he had finally figured it out. He wasn't feeling as satisfied as he should be. Not that he was in the habit of dissecting his emotions, but something was telling him some, some instinct was warning him, that there was something off about those emotions, and that it had been building for some time now.

He'd been in control of Data for nearly a month, a month during which he'd been forced to maintain rigid control over his own emotions in order to keep the plan from being found out too soon. Unlike the first time he'd taken over Data, there was more riding on his maintaining that control and less desperation in the immediate circumstances. It had helped, knowing they were already far from that damned prison and the endless whirling of the storm they'd been both trapped in and an integral part of. This time he was under much less of a strain not only because he and his fellow prisoners had already made good their initial escape, but also because he wasn't facing anyone who brought out his more combative instincts, like the Klingon or Picard. Not unintentionally, Data had been the first person back on the ship after his "leave," and that solitude had helped Verek perfect his mimicry to the point where it had become almost second nature.

Perhaps that was the problem; he'd become so used to suppressing his emotions, attempting to be Data to the few people who weren't already assimilated by fellow Uxmalians, that he simply needed to remember it was safe for his own personality to re-emerge.

He'd give it some more time; if, however, the problem turned out to be more complicated than it appeared, he would be faced with a dilemma: he would either be forced to admit a weakness to Narve, who had never been one tolerate weakness in any of his followers, or he would have to find some other way to deal with the situation.

He only hoped the second option would be available to him.


	8. Hen Party

**Part II: Riding Out the Storm**

A day passed, then another, until a full week had gone by. Crusher, Troi, and Selar spent that time in tending as best they could to the ills of each other as well as those of their fellow captives, establishing a routine, or fruitlessly trying to cajole more than the most basic of medical supplies out of the guards Narve had set on them. He apparently had been apprised of the fact that none of the women faced anything like a life-threatening injury, no bones had been broken, no injuries more severe than stun damage, strained muscles, cuts and bruises. All of which, they were brusquely informed, would heal on their own. Although Selar had offered to break her own wrist if Dr. Crusher felt that a bone knitter or possibly a trip to Sickbay might be useful, she was politely declined. The situation had not yet become desperate enough for those sorts of measures.

No, they were fed the minimal amount necessary to keep them alive and healthy, there were sinks and latrines available for small, supervised groups to use every morning and evening; there were even showers, although they were only allowed to use it once each so far, but otherwise they were left in the clothing they'd been captured in and thin mats to sleep upon and nothing else except time and conversation to pass that time. None of which was terribly burdensome after a week, but would become increasingly uncomfortable as time passed. Nothing whittled away the spirit quite like the subtle torture of deprivation. Prisoners had been broken by more primitive means than those Narve and his men were employing, even Starfleet prisoners.

But time left alone was time left to think, to plan. Time for Crusher to spend more than a few, snatched seconds in whispered conversation with her fellow conspirators before more guards were sent to enforce the evening curfew Narve had imposed. Since Mast was inevitably one of those guards, there was never more than minor trouble between Narve's other pirates and the women they guarded. Neither, however, was there an opportunity to use those quiet hours of the night to conspire, since Mast also ensured that the curfew was enforced once the lights were dimmed, that forbidden conversation remained forbidden. Although Crusher, Selar, Troi and Ro were never physically separated from each other or the other captives, they knew they were watched more closely than the rest.

They had all braced themselves for further abuse at the hands of the captors, but aside from the lewd comments and leering glances flung at them by whoever happened to be on guard duty, they were left strictly alone. Crusher discovered the reason for that as she stood patiently in line for the shower on the second day, when she overheard one of the guards taunting Peris, the Uxmalian occupying Worf's body, about how he had to wait "like the rest of us" for his chance with the women, until Narve gave the word. That word, she gleaned, was not to be given until at least two weeks had passed, and he had included himself and his Second and Third in the ban as well. Which meant they had some breathing room, time to make whatever plans they could.

At least during the daylight hours, they spent a great deal of time trying to work out a plan. Whether it was arrogance or confidence that their captives would be unable to make good any attempts at escape, the women were allowed to do what little they could during the day. Many chose exercise and mental games, but inevitably they fell into conversations. Crusher could feel the invisible pressure from the other captives for her to come up with something that would help them all. She received suggestions, ideas, and encouraged them, no matter how far-fetched or dependent on miraculous outside help. Anything to keep the women focused on a future that included escape, and not slavery and forced childbearing. Information was their best, their only, weapon.

Unfortunately, the gleanings were frustratingly small. Crusher, Troi, Selar and Ro were the ones who had the closest contact with the captors the last time, and not all of the new captives had even been on board the ship six months ago.

Without access to the ship's computers and transporter, she realized, there was absolutely nothing they could do. An early attempt to overpower the guards had resulted only in anesthazine gas being pumped into the room, immediately rendering both guards and prisoners unconscious. They had awoken to find themselves shackled, with a furious Narve demanding that Crusher give her word that no such other attempts would be made or not only would they remain that way, but he would personally kill one of the women as punishment.

"You have my word," she'd forced herself to say, staring into the cold eyes of the man she loved, forcing herself to ignore that it was Jean-Luc Picard standing there, to see only Narve instead. "No more attempts to overpower the guards."

He'd grunted acceptance and left, after ordering the shackles removed from half the women at the end of that day, then the other half the next morning.

With no other options, Crusher had turned her mind to questions that had gone unanswered during their first round of captivity. Questions that might or might not be of help to them now. "What do we know about their telepathic abilities?" she suggested after a desultory breakfast the morning of the seventh day. They all knew the _Enterprise_ had to have been reported missing by now, and clung to the hope that at least they were being looked for.

Not unexpectedly, Troi was the first one to speak. She sat on the mat next to Crusher's, legs folded demurely beneath her. She and Ensign Fuller from Ship's Services had devised a way to at least tidy up her hair, finger combing it and tightly braiding it, tying it with a strip from her gown after she'd finally been allowed an opportunity to shower. "From what we've observed, they can access their hosts' minds only while the two of them are physically joined. And the ones that are joined only appear to be able to receive thoughts from their unjoined comrades. When outside of a host, they seem only to be able to communicate with each other and perhaps other telepaths." She shrugged apologetically. "As far as I can tell, they've never even tried communicating that way." She glanced inquisitively at Selar.

The Vulcan doctor responded with a negative shake of her perfectly-coiffed hair. Vulcans apparently didn't require as much in the way of grooming as humans, Crusher had noted enviously. Probably something to do with coming from a desert environment. "They have never given the appearance of attempting such communication, nor did they use any sort of telepathic coercion when they took us prisoner."

"Is there any way for us to find out for sure?" Ro interposed. "A mind meld or something?"

"Aside from the fact that you will note they watch me carefully any time I approach one of them and do not allow me within physical reach, my telepathic abilities are…rather limited," Selar replied, showing no signs of discomfort at relaying such intimate information. Under other circumstances, she would never have revealed her shortcomings to her fellow crewmates, but right now there was no room for keeping secrets that might have an impact on their chances at escape. "It takes me a great deal of time to establish a mental link, and by the time I did so one of the other guards would have either overpowered me or raised the alarm."

"And as far as I can tell, they haven't taken over any men with telepathic abilities," Crusher interspersed.

"When Narve had possession of my body," Troi remembered with a slight tremor in her voice, "he never even tried to access my empathic abilities. He pretended to when he was masquerading as me, but that was all. I would have known," she added firmly. "What I don't know is if it was because he didn't feel the need to, or because he couldn't."

"I'm willing to bet it was because he couldn't," Crusher said. "I can't imagine Narve ignoring anything that would give him an advantage."

An involuntary shudder went over Troi's form. She'd avoided thinking about their current predicament in more than general terms, because she didn't trust her self-control otherwise. Her experiences at the hands of Narve had been too traumatic. Not only had he mentally possessed her and then raped her, he'd performed that latter act while in the body of her commanding officer, a man she trusted and respected. Intellectually, she'd known that Picard wasn't responsible for Narve's offenses against her, but it had been a different matter emotionally. Time and counseling and even a confrontation with Captain Picard had healed her, or so she thought at the time; now, she wasn't so sure. If Narve or Larsch touched her while wearing the bodies of friends, she wasn't sure how she would react.

"Well, he hasn't tried to do anything with Counselor Troi or Selar's abilities," Ro pointed out. She had proven invaluable in helping her companions adapt to the necessities forced on them by the circumstances of their captivity. Life as a refugee, she had noted wryly, prepared her for this situation better than anyone. "So advantage or not, he's letting a valuable resource go to waste for some reason."

Troi opened her mouth to say something, only to leave it open in surprise as she felt herself caught up in a transporter beam. Before the room around her completely dissolved, she saw Beverly Crusher caught in a similar beam just as Ro Laren threw her arms around the other woman, ensuring her presence wherever it was they were being taken.


	9. The Trouble With Verek

They materialized in one of the secondary transporter rooms. Crusher took a step forward as she saw Data at the console, then stopped as she realized it wasn't the longed-for rescue. Even if Data hadn't been smiling, the phaser in his hand would have been a dead giveaway. "Why did you bring us here?" she demanded. May as well take the initiative.

"Ro Laren, what a pleasant surprise!" Verek said, ignoring Crusher. He pulled the Bajoran ensign closer, thrusting the phaser against her head. She stood stoically, even as Troi's face betrayed a flash of the pain the other woman was feeling. Verek jerked his head toward two pair of binders sitting on the edge of the console. "Put these on. I'll kill Laren if you don't." He leaned forward, brushing her wounded ear with his lips as he whispered, "How kind of you to offer yourself as hostage to their good behavior."

Troi and Crusher stepped down from the transporter pad, trading unhappy glances as they obediently slid their hands into the restraints. Once they were secured to Verek's satisfaction, he pulled Ro around, keeping her directly in front of him as he ordered the other two to walk slowly in front of him out of the doors and into the deserted corridor.

"We'll be making a brief stop; since I wasn't expecting you, I'll have to put you someplace while I conclude my business with these two," Verek told Ro. "But don't worry; I'll be back to…keep you company." Ro didn't respond, but couldn't help the stiffening of her shoulders at the implications in Verek's words. She felt the rumble of a low chuckle in the back of his throat, and had to resist the impulse to turn and stare at him. Had that chuckle sounded…forced?

Verek said nothing else until they reached their destination: Data's quarters. Of course. He ushered them all inside, locking the door and herding them toward the closet. Data's cat, Spot, hissed at him and ran into the other room, which Verek ignored but Ro and Crusher both noted and filed away for future reference. In this situation, knowledge was most definitely power. "You, Doctor," Verek ordered. "Come here."

Crusher held her hands out obediently and allowed Verek to remove the binders without protest. The phaser was still securely jammed against Ro's head as she followed his next orders and placed her binders on the wrists of the younger woman.

When the binders were securely fastened, Verek transferred the phaser to Crusher's head and ordered Ro into the closet. "Don't try anything," he said. "You might be thinking that I wouldn't kill Crusher after going to so much trouble to get her out here, but there's another doctor back in the cargo bay that'll be just as useful. And just so you know, the computer console and replicator are disabled till we leave Federation space, per Narve's orders."

Ro didn't bother answering, but the hatred in her eyes spoke volumes as the door whooshed shut, closing her off from the other women's view.

Troi and Crusher moved quickly as Verek increased his speed. Neither was surprised when he brought them to a turbolift, and from there to Sickbay. "The transporters are offline again, only available for use by myself, Narve and Mylal," he started to explain, but Crusher cut him off.

"So we surmised. What do you want with us?" She met his eyes, gaining some satisfaction when he was the first to turn away. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Verek had taken them out of the cargo bay for his own purposes, not on Narve's orders, and she was curious to know exactly why he'd risked his commander's wrath in taking these actions.

"I have a…situation I need your assistance with." He hesitated, then continued. "I need to know if there's something wrong with this android body, if being in it might be able to affect me." Verek pushed her toward a medical cart, on which waited a tricorder and an array of medical sensors. "Take some readings, Doctor, and tell me if everything's the way it should be." The phaser never wavered in his grip, but Crusher felt a wave of relief at no longer feeling its muzzle against her temple.

Although neither his face nor his voice showed it, Crusher concluded that Verek had to be desperately worried to admit to any kind of weakness, no matter how vaguely worded. Doubly so to admit it to prisoners. She and Troi exchanged glances before the doctor lowered her eyes to the tricorder, made a few adjustments, then held it up to scan Data.

"All Data's readings are normal," she pronounced after a moment spent frowning over the readout. "Nothing appears to be physically wrong…no, wait," she said with a frown. She made another adjustment, then held up the tricorder and scanned him again. "Now what is that," she murmured, intrigued in spite of the dangers of the situation.

"What? What is what?" Verek demanded.

"I'm not sure," Crusher replied, too preoccupied with the unusual neural readings to notice Verek's hand tightening on the phaser. Troi, however, tensed as Crusher finally looked up. "I need to modify this tricorder to monitor your biochemical signature." At his blank expression, she added: "Your aura. That's what Narve called it. I presume you can see it as well as he can?"

Verek nodded, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why do you need to monitor it?"

"It might give me the information I need to interpret this information," Crusher explained patiently, tapping the tricorder with one finger. "I don't know a lot about you, either in your previous or your current physical states, the differences between you in a body or out of one. If I'm going to help you with whatever it is that's driven you to bringing Counselor Troi and I here, then I have to know a lot more than I do right now."

Verek frowned, then nodded. "All right," came his reluctant agreement. "Go ahead and make your modifications. But don't try anything," he warned. "I'll be watching, and Data knows enough about modifying your equipment to send out a distress signal that I'll be able to tell if you try anything like that. If you do," he added, nodding at Troi, "she'll pay the price." He brought the phaser up with deliberate slowness to rest against the counselor's cheek.

Crusher nodded. "I understand." _So much for Plan 'B.'_ She lowered her eyes, to block out the view before her. It would only distract her at a time when she needed to focus on the task at hand. Part of that task was clearly spelling out her next set of actions for Verek, so he didn't misinterpret anything she did. "First I'm going to take some readings on myself and Counselor Troi, to act as a comparative baseline." She didn't wait for an answer, just turned the tricorder first on Troi and then on herself.

Crusher went very still as her readings came up, then raked her eyes over them a second time, just to confirm that she'd really seen what she thought. But it was still there, one anomalous reading disrupting the comforting stream of otherwise familiar data. She knew Troi must have sensed her reaction, but also knew the other woman would keep it to herself. She forced herself to return to the task at hand.

It didn't take long to calibrate the tricorder to read Verek's aura. She smiled in grin triumph as she scanned Data, then brought the tricorder over to the computer to download the information. There was no need for Verek to warn her against trying anything; he merely nodded and shoved Troi closer, the better to monitor the two of them. The counselor handled it with a cool stoicism Crusher wasn't sure she could have managed were their positions reversed. Troi offered a tiny smile of encouragement, no doubt sensing the doctor's concern for her, but continued to wait silently as Crusher finished the data download and forced herself to focus on the information that began scrolling down the computer screen.

After a few minutes, Crusher managed a triumphant smile of her own as she transferred the new algorithm back into the tricorder and pointed it at Data's head. A cool blue light flickered into existence on the tiny screen, just as she'd hoped to see, with the information being translated into text and figures below the image. She added a filter to allow her to view Data's positronic and neural networks, to compare the current reading with information she already had on file, then factor in the aura and Verek's own distinctive neurological readings…

Crusher frowned, made a few more adjustments, then compared the new results to the readings she'd just taken. "Verek, what do you know about your aura? Is it the physiological manifestation of your neural link to your host, or does it serve some other purpose?" When he hesitated, she added impatiently, "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important for me to know."

"Narve says it functions the way you described, but he also believes its linked to our consciousness in other ways," he admitted grudgingly.

"How?"

Verek shrugged. "He says it has something to do with the way we were forced out of our bodies, that it's a way for us to be identified. They didn't spend a lot of time explaining things to us after we were tried and condemned," he added with a hint of sarcasm. "Just drugged us, told us our punishment, and shipped us off to what they thought was the middle of nowhere."

Troi frowned as he spoke, but kept her thoughts, whatever they were, to herself. But Crusher could see her eyeing Verek with a speculative gleam that hadn't been there before. "So they marked you," was all she said, still addressing their captor. "Something to let them know if you'd managed to take over a body before your imprisonment." It made sense; if the Uxmalians had developed a way to remove a consciousness from a body, then it stood to reason that they would also develop a way to return it as well.

"Is any of this going to help me?" was all Verek asked.

"I don't know," Crusher replied. "But any information could be useful. The problem is, I don't know what I'm supposed to being looking for."

"I just want to know if being in Data's body, since its synthetic, could affect me," he said after a long moment. "I don't want to have to give it up, so I have to know everything I can about it."

Crusher waited a beat, then turned back to the computer console. She used a virtual keyboard to input her instructions and respond to queries, rather than using voice commands. Verek wanted to be secretive, fine; then so would she. She was under no illusions; Narve had demonstrated a lack of tolerance for any perceived deficiencies in his crew, and she doubted he would be lenient just because Verek was his Second. If there was something about Data's body that could affect Verek, at the very least he would be forced to give up that body, which Verek obviously didn't want to do.

It didn't take Crusher long to find something, now that she had something more to go on. "Now that's interesting," she murmured.

"What?"

"Your aura appears to be wavering," Crusher replied, foregoing the scientific explanation for the purely descriptive. It would have more of an impact than "the bioelectrical field you emanate is exhibiting some anomalous energy readings indicative of pattern fluctuation." She turned back to the tricorder with a frown. "Taken in conjunction with the other data I've gathered, it almost looks as if there were some kind of…internal struggle going on."

"That's not possible, Doctor," Verek replied flatly. "There has to be another reason. I am in complete control of this body. Commander Data is still my prisoner; nothing has changed."

"Hasn't it?" Troi interjected suddenly. "I can sense your emotions, and they aren't nearly as strong as they were even a short time ago."

Understanding dawned in Crusher's eyes, along with a savage glee she was only partially able to contain. She aimed the tricorder at Data once again, to see if Troi's empathic evidence could be quantified.

"That's ridiculous!" Verek spat out, his voice straining to eject the words with an angry snarl and failing miserably. "How could something like that happen?" It obviously wasn't what he'd expected to hear, but even the panic in his voice was muted, faded, like the colors in an old painting.

"It's Data's body," Crusher replied, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "It's affecting your emotions. They no longer have a physical housing; they've basically been going on momentum. All you have is the memory of emotions, rather than the real thing. Your mind has retained those memories, just as it retained it cohesiveness when it was separated from your body. But now you have a new body, one that wasn't designed to process emotions."

"How is this possible?" Verek asked, sounding even more subdued.

"I suppose it's because you've been in Data's body long enough for his physiology to affect your neurological functions," Crusher said with a shrug. "Your personality, your sense of self, haven't changed, but your emotions are controlled to a large extent by the neurological and chemical processes in your nervous and endocrine systems, in your brain. Which is now Data's positronic brain."

His reaction wasn't long in coming. "Well, Doctor, if that's the case, then perhaps its time I took a new body." No hesitation there; once the problem was defined, he instantly made the only decision possible. He raised the phaser, taking careful aim at Crusher…

…before collapsing to the deck in a lifeless heap before the disbelieving eyes of the two women.

"And maybe it's time you had your stolen body taken away from you," Guinan said, nudging Data's unconscious form with one toe before raising her eyes to those of a still-gaping Beverly Crusher. "Well, Doctor, it seems to be my lot in life to rescue you from these pirates."


	10. Comings and Goings

Crusher's mouth clicked shut as she groped for something to say. "Where did you come from?" she finally managed to get out. "I didn't even see you!"

"Nor did I," Troi added. "I didn't even sense you."

"And don't think that didn't take a lot of concentration," Guinan replied, looking steadily at both women. "Too much for me to try and influence Verek as well; if he'd turned around, that would have been the end of it. If he saw you too reacting to me, no matter how briefly, he would have known something was up."

She didn't bother explaining how strained her resources were after what she'd gone through, first in deceiving Mast and then his companions on the shuttle as it made its way back to the Enterprise. Not to mention spending a week ghosting around the less-used decks of the ship, a ghost ship indeed with only 150 men moving around it after housing over a thousand people. She'd been unable to gain access to any of the computers, communicators or weapons, but had gleaned the location of the 75 prisoners. It was pure luck that she'd chosen today to make her way to Sickbay, in hopes that eventually a prisoner would be brought in for treatment. At least, she believed it was luck; she certainly hadn't been the one to influence Verek's timing.

"I apologize for turning your attention away from me," was all she did say. "It was necessary or I wouldn't have done it.

Crusher nodded acceptance of Guinan's words, Troi echoing the gesture as the doctor knelt next to Data's unconscious form. She plucked the electronic key to the binders from his lax hand, then released Troi, who rubbed her wrists gratefully. They offered Guinan a hasty explanation of how they came to be in Sickbay, then returned their attention to Data.

"The first thing we need to do is hide the evidence," Crusher announced, rolling their fellow crewmate fully onto his back with a grunt of effort. "I don't think anyone else knows what he was up to, or else Narve would have put the ship on red alert. Especially if anyone noticed the transport; Verek timed it for when one of the guards had stepped outside. It's possible the other guard acted as his accomplice and just turned a blind eye when we vanished, but I don't know that for sure. Either way, I doubt he'll say anything to Narve, at least not right away. That leaves us some time." She pulled Data's communicator off his chest and handed it to Troi, who threw it down the nearest disposal chute as Crusher rose to her fee.

"Now what?" the counselor asked.

"We should get Ensign Ro out of Verek's quarters," Crusher replied. "Once Narve realizes Verek is missing, she's sure to be discovered and questioned."

"You said Verek relocked the transporters, so it sounds like we'll have to get her out ourselves," Guinan put in. "Plus that means we can't count on them to capture the pirates."

Crusher nodded. "Which means we'll have to get more creative this time. Verek enabled this computer console," she tapped it with one finger, "which means we can use it. I have an idea-"

Before she could continue, Troi raised a hand to silence her. "I think it would be best if you waited until I left before you explain anything."

"Leave? Where are you going?"

"To free Ensign Ro." She stooped to pick up Verek's phaser, hesitated, then handed it back to Crusher. "You'd better keep this, Beverly. Ro and I will make our way back here if we can, but if don't return in a reasonable amount of time you and Guinan should consider us captured and get as far away as you can."

"Good luck," was all Guinan said. Crusher gave her friend a quick hug, then watched silently as she made her way to the Jeffries tube, wrenching the cover free and crawling inside, quickly disappearing from view. Guinan replaced the cover while Crusher looked around for a good place to hide Data's body.

"What's next?"

Crusher walked over to the nearest bulkhead and pulled a crash cart aside. Behind it was a storage locker. She opened it and gestured toward its empty interior. "We put Data in here with a tricorder to shield his readings; I should be able to rig one to make it seem there's nothing there that shouldn't be. Plus we'll put this," she touched the handle of the cart, "back in front of it." She suited words to action and moved back to Data's body, lifting his arms. Guinan grabbed his feet and the two of them managed to half-drag, half-carry him to the locker and stuff him inside. While Guinan made sure he was completely inside, Troi quickly rigged the tricorder, then handed it to the other woman and headed for the computer console.

"Now we get ready to leave."

"And go where?" Guinan shut the door and locked it, then moved the heavy cart in front of it while Crusher dashed over to the computer console and gave it a rapid-fire string of commands. "This computer has a direct link to the one in the bio lab two decks down, so I should be able to remote start it from here—yes!" she interrupted herself, smiling in grim satisfaction. "All set." She picked up the medical tricorder she'd used to scan Verek's aura and ordered the computer to deactivate itself. "Let's go." She hesitated, then handed Guinan the phaser. "You're going to have to act as bodyguard, I'm afraid."

Guinan merely nodded and took the weapon, automatically checking its settings before settling it comfortably in her right hand. "It's a job I've held before, and since I can't do whatever it is you plan on doing, it makes perfect sense."

They headed for the Jeffries tube, Guinan pulling the panel shut behind them before turning awkwardly around in the cramped space and following Crusher as she headed for the junction to the next level. "So, is the plan one you can share, or do you think you'd better keep it to yourself?"

"Do you think the Uxmalians can possess you?" Crusher asked in response.

Guinan smiled, although the other woman couldn't see it. "No," was all she said.

Crusher took her at her word, explaining her idea in short bursts as they crawled along. "I think I gathered enough neurological data from Verek to figure out how they were separated from their bodies. And from that, I should be able to reverse-engineer it in a way our own technology can duplicate or at least come up with a comparable method."

"And what exactly did they do?"

"Their minds and bodies were put out of phase," Crusher continued the explanation, somewhat breathlessly, pausing as they started down the ladder. "The aura is not only the physiological manifestation of their mental energy, but has been deliberately modified to make it easier to tell if they attempt to take over someone's body. I believe the original procedure may have been developed for medical purposes, rather than judicial, then modified. Perhaps as a type of anesthetic," she theorized. "Remove the consciousness from the body, perform the procedure, then reintegrate the two after healing has commenced."

"Which helps us get them out of their stolen bodies how?" Guinan asked, gently nudging the doctor back on topic as they left the ladder and continued down another tube. Only a few more minutes, the doctor had estimated, and they would be at the next junction, only meters away from the entry to the bio lab.

Crusher threw an apologetic grin over her shoulder. "Sorry, I was lecturing. The upshot is, based on the neurological information I obtained and the way the auras were modified for identification, I believe I can create a subspace field that will simulate the method by which they originally separated from their bodies. One the field is generated, they'll be forced out and won't be able to back in until its shut down. By then we should be able to get the transporters up and running, capture them, contain them, and get them back off the ship."

"And out of our lives for good," Guinan agreed. It was a well-thought out plan, as long as Crusher was as confident of her ability to put it into action as she sounded.

And as long as they were granted enough time to do so.


	11. Stumbling Blocks

Troi reached Data's quarters without incident. She studied the door from the relative safety of a nearby alcove, reaching with her empathic senses as well as listening and looking around carefully. She neither saw nor heard anyone, and the only presence she sensed was that of a highly outraged Ensign Ro Laren. Taking a deep, calming breath and letting it out slowly, Troi darted from her hiding place and raced the few paces down the corridor to Data's quarters. When she arrived, she wasted no time in punching in the medical emergency code she hoped would override any locks Verek had placed on the door, her fingers moving nimbly even as she continued to broadcast her empathic senses in hopes of eluding any pursuit.

The door slid open mere seconds later. Troi's sigh of relief turned to a startled "oof" as she was suddenly shoved to the deck. It was Ro, who had managed to free herself from both the binders and the closet, and had been waiting for someone to try and enter Data's quarters. She'd hurled herself through the entrance before the doors had fully opened, rolled off and bounced to her feet, pausing only long enough to determine who it was she'd downed. She held a combative pose until Troi said quietly, "I've come to get you out. Verek has been taken care of for now, but we don't have much time before Narve realizes something's wrong."

Ro nodded, pulling Troi to her feet without bothering to apologize. The two women aimed themselves at a dead run for the Jeffries Tube Troi had just exited. Time was truly of the essence; if they could make it into hiding without getting caught, Crusher's tentative plans might still have a chance. If not…

Troi refused to consider any option other than success. She continued after Ro without pause, casting her empathy like a net as she sped down the hall, every sense straining.

They almost made it. Less than ten feet away from the entrance they sought, Troi sensed another mind bearing down on them. She shouted a warning to Ro, but it was too late. Mast's emotions were as controlled and hard to read as those of a Vulcan; Troi hadn't sensed him until he was much closer than she realized. A phaser blast tore into the wall beside her, and she froze. Ro, however, continued stubbornly wrenching at the cover to the tube, stopping only when a second phaser blast came close enough to singe the hairs on the back of her hand. She pulled her hands away slowly, cursing under her breath and turning to face their captor with a great deal of hatred. They'd been so close…

Mast spoke not a word, showed not a sign of being surprised or angry at their presence. He merely waved them away from the opening and waited, phaser trained directly at them, until he was joined by a breathless pair of former security guards. The proximity of Verek's stolen quarters had apparently not escaped Mast's notice; he set the two newcomers to guard the women while he cautiously checked to make sure no one else was where they shouldn't be.

He emerged from the doorway with a quick shake of his head. Still without speaking, he jerked his head at the others and continued down the corridor to the nearest turbolift, waiting with no sign of impatience as the guards hustled the women down the hall to join him.

"Bridge."

Mast's coldly spoken order was the only thing he said, or allowed anyone else to say. When one of the guards started a jeering comment to Troi, Mast cut him off with a glare. Troi and Ro exchanged worried glances as they sped toward their destination, each wondering why Mast was waiting to question them regarding either their escape or Verek's whereabouts. The bridge was the last place they wanted to be right now, but the longer it took for anyone to try and get information out of them, the longer Crusher had to put her plans in motion.

Troi had no illusions about how easy it would be for Narve to extract whatever information he could get from either of his newly recaptured prisoners; all he had to do was order one of his men to possess them and he would have a starting point in searching for Beverly, not to mention the possibly more valuable information that Guinan was alive and free on the ship. Unfortunately, as she knew from past experience, he was equally willing to use more conventional means to break a prisoner's will, and she anticipated that with a dread she did her best to hide from the others. It would serve no purpose to allow Ro to see how frightened she was, and she certainly had no intention of giving her captors that satisfaction. She had faced down her demons with Picard after Narve had used the captain's body to rape her during their last encounter, but that wasn't the same as seeing Narve in charge of him again. Not the same at all…

Troi stumbled as Mast shoved her out of the turbolift and onto the bridge, but she quickly regained her footing. She automatically sought out Will Riker, sitting at Ops, but forced her glance away as Narve stepped into her line of sight. It was the first she'd seen of him, and it didn't surprise her to find that he'd disdained even the marginal camouflage of a Starfleet uniform in favor of a sleek black jumpsuit that gave Picard's features a stark, forbidding aspect more suited to the personality now dominating the captain's body. She felt her stomach clench at the sight of him, but did her best to keep an emotionless façade. Even so, she couldn't help a slight flinch as his gaze swept over first herself, then Ensign Ro, before turning to their captor for an explanation. "Mast?"

"I brought them here so you could question them directly," the assassin replied as he moved away from the two women, allowing his companions to continue to act as guards. "I found them trying to get into a Jeffries Tube near Verek's quarters." A significant pause. "He, however, was nowhere to be seen."

"How convenient." Narve eyed the two women coldly. "I take it your presence has something to do with my Second's absence?" There was an underlying fury to his words that Troi sensed was as much at himself for not noting Verek's absence as at their apparent escape.

Ro opened her mouth to retort, but Narve raised a hand to stop her. "Please, spare me the bravado, Ensign. I expect neither you nor Counselor Troi to tell me anything remotely approaching the truth, so let me guess. Verek decided to let you out early, in direct contradiction of my orders, because he felt he could 'handle' you. Instead, you handled him and managed to free the Counselor in the process, from under the very noses of my guards." His tone did not bode well for whoever had been on duty when they had supposedly escaped. "Am I close?"

"Reasonably," Troi allowed, amazed at the way she was able to control her voice, to keep it from trembling, when all she wanted to do was-what? To run, to hide? Or to attack the man in front of her, demand that he release the captain and leave them all in peace? She was shocked at the rage she suddenly felt, a rage that quickly overtook the fear. Rage at what Narve had done to her, to Picard, and to all the others. She had to do something, channel that rage; now was possibly the only chance she would ever have.

Unaware of her emotional turmoil, Narve's eyes had grown colder, if that were possible. "'Reasonably' is not sufficient, Counselor," he said, biting off every word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "I prefer to discover the truth myself. Since I don't expect either of you to reveal Verek's whereabouts to me willingly, I feel it would be if I simply allow one of my men access to Ensign Ro in a more…direct…manner." A smile played briefly across his lips as he raised one hand and brushed it almost gently across Troi's cheek. "I will deal with you later…personally."

She flinched away from his touch. The implied threat was exactly what she had braced herself to hear from him, and part of her still responded to that threat with blind terror, but she barely noticed it beneath the rage and contempt she also felt. Narve's plans would fall to ruin, just as they had last time, and she was determined to do whatever she could to bring him down. Not only for her own sake, but for the sake of every other victim he had ever tormented.

**oOo**

Larsch watched the by-play between the two prisoners and Narve avidly. _Hey, Riker, there's our Woman,_ he taunted. Riker, who had fallen silent as soon as Troi appeared on the Bridge, retreated, as if Larsch had finally found a way to get to him. Larsch followed the other man's consciousness eagerly, concentrating all his energy on forcing his captive to hear what he had to say for a change. He was tired of being on the receiving end of Riker's considerable store of invective, no matter how justified, and anxious to return the favor.

_What's the matter, Riker? Can't stand the thought of Narve 'dealing' with Deanna the way he did last time? Don't like the idea of him touching her that way? Well, guess what, you'll get to watch, up close and personal, when he gives her to me after,_ he jibed, pushing his essence deeper within Riker's mind as the other man fled in what could only be construed as blind anguish. _Not so loud now, are you?_

Larsch reveled in the sensation of the other man's pain, at his obvious desperation to escape the reality of Larsch's words. Finally, finally he'd found a way to shut Riker up, maybe even for good! He should have known that using Troi was the way, that she was his host's weakness. It felt great, so damn great, to finally get in the last word… _First he gets her, then I do_ , he taunted ruthlessly. _Commander never gives his word unless he means it, he never breaks it, and he promised her to me. Promised her, you got that, Riker?_ He continued in that vein, crowding on Riker's figurative heels as the other man continued to mentally retreat deep within the limits of his interior prison.

That was Larsch's first mistake. Riker had been waiting for a chance like this, the only chance he would ever get. The instant he felt Larsch's control slip, as soon as the Uxmalian's energy was focused on forcing Riker to pay attention to him, Riker fought his way along the empathic link he still shared with Deanna, swarming past Larsch's startled consciousness as if it wasn't there, putting all his energy into a desperate plea.

_Imzadi!_ Troi's eyes widened at the unexpected mental appeal from Will Riker. It lasted only a heartbeat, the moment between Larsch's lapse in control and his realization that Riker had reached outside his prison, but it was enough. Before Larsch could sever the link, Troi followed it back, strengthening it as she went. Larsch was divided between his struggle to contain Riker and Troi's sudden invasion, and a moment's hesitation was all the other two needed. Troi mentally threw herself into the fray, blocking Larsch's desperate attempts to stop them, giving Riker time to do whatever it was he was planning, even as she shared the knowledge of Crusher's freedom with him. He needed all the information she could impart right now.

Another heartbeat, another decision Larsch had to make. Another mistake. Troi was the invading presence; in a blind panic, Larsch lurched to his feet, concentrating his efforts on thrusting her out, unaware that he was being stared at by the others on the Bridge, all but Troi, whose eyes remained wide and staring at nothing.

Riker chose that miscalculated instant to act. Troi sensed his intent, even as Larsch forced her fully back into her own mind. She did what she could to keep his focus on her by suddenly giving way, forcing him to mentally "stumble" at her unexpected lack of resistance.

Before anyone else could react, before they were even aware there was something to react to, Riker had taken temporary control of his body, shouting out a string of code that authorized the computer to lock out everyone but the Chief Medical Officer.

Ro, who had been watching for anything she could use, was the first to react. While her guard's attention was on Riker, she pulled backwards out of his loosened grip. A kick to the back of his knee and a smashing blow to the other man's face gave her enough time to whirl and dive into the turbolift, shouting out a destination ten decks below. Although the guards recovered enough to rush the turbolift doors, she was gone before they could stop her.

Troi, still off-balance from her recent mental scuffle, stood docilely while Narve tightened his hold on her, turning to glare at Larsch.

Who had lost control and allowed it all to happen.


	12. Crime and Punishment

Larsch, gasping and sweating in panic, managed somehow to thrust Riker back into his mental prison and regain control of the other man's body, but not without being forced to endure the other man's wordless howl of triumph. His eyes locked with those of Troi, who merely stared back at him, eyes shining with triumph. "No." Larsch gasped out, horrified. "That's impossible!"

"Yet it happened." Larsch wrenched his gaze from that of Deanna Troi to meet the deadly anger of his commander's eyes. "Unless I'm very much mistaken," Narve continued, his tone implying he didn't believe that for a minute, "you just lost control of your host and gave Commander Riker a moment of freedom. Didn't you." He snapped his fingers, and two of the watching pirates sprang forward to grasp Riker's arms in grips of iron, yanking Larsch to his feet and dragging him closer to Narve and Troi.

Larsch wet his lips, too terrified to struggle or protest their hold. "I – I – " he stammered, then stopped, unable to deny what had just happened. Because he had either lost control of his host or his mind, and Narve was not the man to tolerate either.

"Because of your stupidity," Narve continued, his voice deceptively calm, "we are no locked out of the command functions of this vessel until Beverly Crusher releases control to us. I wonder how such a thing could happen." He shook Troi roughly, but she endured the crushing tightness of his fingers on her arm with equanimity, lifting her chin a notch. Just enough to let Narve know he was guessing correctly as to her complicity in this matter. "I wonder what the chances are that the CMO is still safely locked away in the cargo bay?" He turned his attention back to Larsch. Crusher would have to wait; punishment took precedence in matters like this. To delay was to imply weakness, something he could never show in front of his men. "You knew Troi and Riker shared an empathic link, yet you did not sever it. I wonder why." It was a question that demanded answering, no matter how flat a tone in which it was issued.

"I thought it might be useful, a way to control Riker or Troi," Larsch babbled, shrinking as far from Narve's relentless approach as his captors would allow, stomach churning with terror. Riker had finally fallen silent, but even that brought no comfort to his beleaguered invader.

Narve strode up to Larsch, eyes burning with a cold, savage fury. "Or course you did. Useful in an attempt to overthrow me, no doubt." He ignored Larsch's convulsive, guilty start. "If I'd realized you were still having difficulties controlling your host, I never would have allowed you one with access to such sensitive information. That was my mistake." His last words were nearly a whisper. "One I intend to rectify."

"But Commander, you don't understand," Larsch began, his gaze traveling desperately around the bridge as he continued to shrink away from the other man, looking for support and finding nothing but contempt from his crewmates.

"You're right, I don't understand," Narve agreed. "Furthermore, I don't wish to understand." He turned, slowly and deliberately, to look at Mast.

All he did was nod, and the other man stepped forward. All color drained from Riker's face as Larsch stared wildly around the Bridge. "No," he whimpered, still finding no support. The contempt reflected on the crews' faces was liberally interspersed with anticipation, ugly grins and nudges between men who knew what was coming next. "Please, Commander, it was an accident, a mistake, it'll never happen again…"

Narve ignored Larsch's continued pleading, moving to sit in Picard's command chair, leaning back and steepling his fingers. Leaving Troi standing uncertainly where he left her, with Mast on one side and Larsch and his captors facing them. Narve turned his piercing gaze on the two men Ro had escaped from, still standing uneasily by the turbolift. "You, two—redeem yourselves. Find Ro and bring her back. If you find Crusher as well, you may escape punishment entirely." They saluted stiffly before hastening into the turbolift.

Troi felt their relief almost as strongly as Larsch's terror, which was in turn almost overwhelmed by the eagerness and bloodlust of the crew surrounding them. Everyone except Mast and Narve, who were like two calm pools in the midst of a whirling maelstrom. The commander looked at Mast. "You know what to do."

Mast nodded, pulled out his phaser—and shot himself.

Troi tensed as Mast's incorporeal form floated free of Lt. MacGyver's body, then gasped as it plunged directly toward her. She raised her arms as if to prevent the attack, but there was no way for her to stop the invasion of self.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself helplessly locked away from control of her own body, barely in control of her own thoughts. It was a frighteningly familiar feeling, one she'd hoped never to experience again. She could do nothing but watch from a corner of her own mind as Mast brought her back to her feet and moved toward Larsch, who continued pulling vainly away from his captors. It wasn't until the assassin stood directly in front of Riker's body that Troi was allowed to understand her invader's intention. She cried out in mental protest, but Mast ignored her, focusing instead on the task before him.

He raised Troi's hands, lacing them almost tenderly on either side of Riker's face. Larsch flinched at the contact as if it burned and strained to pull his head away, to no avail. Mast held him ruthlessly still in that deceptively delicate hold. Troi felt her lips smiling, sensed Mast's slight anticipation at being allowed to do what he did best, but nothing more. If he felt anything else, he was successfully keeping it from her. She sensed then that this was how he always was, that he never felt more than the satisfaction of a job well done, no matter how gruesome a job it might be. It was a frightening realization and made this encounter all the more surreal. Troi found herself pleading with him to stop, but he ignored her even as he brought her lips forward to meet those of Riker in a parody of a kiss that quickly turned brutal—as brutal as the impact of Mast's mind on that of Larsch.

Troi could only watch in horror as Mast followed the slender telepathic link she shared with Will Riker, taking the same path she had used with such desperate effectiveness only moments before. Larsch hadn't had the presence of mind to sever it completely, and now he was about to pay for that lack of foresight. Mast ruthlessly plunged into Riker's mind, but it was Larsch he was after, Larsch whose consciousness he honed in on as he abandoned the link, severing it as casually as he broke off the parody of an embrace in his quest for Larsch's innermost self.

Troi keened soundlessly as the link abruptly vanished, at the mental anguish it caused both her and Will, but Mast would not allow himself to be distracted even by so traumatic an event in his host's mind. He ignored her, concentrating fully on the task at hand.

The bridge was silent, frozen with half-dreaded anticipation, until Larsch broke that silence with a whimper that began deep in his throat, growing until it became a howl of agony that echoed through Troi's mind as well as her ears. She could feel herself howling as well, as Larsch's pain reverberated through her, making her feel as if her own mind were the one being torn apart. Only the cold clarity of shock kept her sane and aware, horribly aware, of everything Mast was doing, how he was doing it, and exactly what he was trying to accomplish with this invasion. He allowed her that knowledge, absently, as if just remembering her presence—but more, she sensed, because he wanted her to see exactly what her vaunted empathy was capable of inflicting on another sentient being's mind. It was nothing more nor less than a calculated lesson in cruelty, and Troi wanted to flee inside herself, throw herself into a mental corner and cower there until it was over, but Mast wouldn't let her. Even though he concentrated the bulk of his mental energies on the destruction of Larsch's mind, he managed to spare enough to keep her alive and aware throughout the entire, horrific ordeal.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all, as Mast swarmed all over Larsch's mind, searching for weaknesses. Larsch's lack of ability to fully control Riker outweighed even his considerable personal vanity and ambition, and Troi felt it as Mast pounced eagerly on the other man's frustration and exhaustion at the constant war his mind was waging against his putative captive. Troi's empathy was the weapon Mast used to feed on that frustration, on Larsch's terror and humiliation, compounding the emotions and forcing them back upon themselves until they utterly consumed the other man's mind.

Riker remained free of the attack, but Troi sensed that the horror of what Larsch was enduring was too much for his host, who fled in self-defense to the place where Larsch had tried so unsuccessfully to confine him. Fled and cowered there, his primal terror etching itself forever on Deanna Troi's own mind, even as she wished desperately to be able to join him in—she hoped—temporary oblivion.

It was over in a matter of minutes. As soon as Troi's hands left Riker's face, he dropped to the deck, eyes vacant, body limp. Troi thought she glimpsed a flicker of fading luminescence that vanished as Narve rose to his feet and walked over, prodding Riker with one toe. "Dead?"

Mast nodded. Troi watched dully through the killer's eyes as Narve smiled in satisfaction. "Good."

"Riker isn't," Mast said, as if noting something of little worth. "His body shouldn't be too damaged to use again, either."

"Excellent. It's a strong, healthy body; no sense in letting it go to waste. We'll have that Vulcan doctor Peris is so fond of check him over." The mention of the doctor brought a frown to Narve's face. "Or Crusher. She has to be found."

"Already on it, Commander." Mylal stepped forward, his eyes hidden by Commander LaForge's VISOR. "I sent out all available men to join the two you sent out. I also told them to be on the look-out for Verek," he added. "But I didn't do anything with the other prisoners, I wasn't sure how you wanted to handle them."

"Verek took Crusher and Troi to Sickbay after stashing Ro in his quarters," Mast offered. "They managed to deactivate him. Troi believes Crusher hid him, although she doesn't know where, after they ditched his comm badge." He did not mention Guinan's presence, nor did he explain how or why Verek had freed them in the first place, but Troi was too dazed to do more than note the omissions.

Narve accepted this information with a nod before turning back to Mylal. "Have Peris take some men down to the detention center for a head count. Have them question the guards and the prisoners, especially Selar. She's Crusher's Second; tell him to find out what she knows and if she can do anything about the mess Verek allowed Riker to get us into."

He wore a doubtful scowl even as he spoke. Troi knew that only Beverly would know the necessary code, but she understood Narve's position; every straw must be grasped if they were going to make good on their plans.

"Tell the men to stay in their own bodies unless absolutely necessary," he threw over his shoulder as he turned back to Mast. "I wouldn't put it past the good doctor to have some kind of trap set up, just waiting for one of us to be vulnerable." Mylal nodded and started issuing orders while Narve gave his full attention to Mast.

"Excellent work, Mast," the commander praised. "You killed their witch and you handled this in an exceptional manner, and you'll be amply rewarded for both." Narve glanced down at Riker's body. "Right now, I want you to take him to the brig."

"What about Troi?" Mast asked indifferently. He could care less what body he inhabited, and if Narve wanted him to stay put, then he would.

The other man paused, weighing his options. "Get back in your own body; we'll chance it now, here on the Bridge. I have plans for the Counselor that don't include anyone but me and her. And Captain Picard, of course," he added. "The three of us have an appointment; apparently she's interested in seeing a bit of history repeat itself, and I am more than willing to oblige her." He leaned closer. "Last time, Deanna," he whispered, "it was strictly business. This time, it's personal, and I can promise you I am a different man when acting on my own behalf rather than for my crew."

He stepped back. "When you're back in your own body, get her to the brig with Riker, until I can spare the time for her."

Mast nodded and stepped back, reaching down to pick up the discarded phaser. He conscientiously sat Troi next to Lt. MacGyver's body before repeating the process of stunning himself to freedom—and her to a blessed oblivion. Narve watched closely, but nothing interfered with the process.

Before Troi slipped into unconsciousness, however, she was aware of two things: Mast's fury at being tricked by Guinan, and his determination to kill her for real this time.


	13. Q&A

Something was happening. Selar looked up as the inside guard, the one named Kyris who wore Reg Barclay's body like an ill-fitting suit, sat bolt upright, apparently in response to some communication he'd just received. He tilted his head toward the badge on his chest as if to hear better, his face blanching visibly as he listened, even from across the room. He looked up, staring wildly around as if searching for something, or someone. After stammering a response voiced too low for even Selar's exceptional hearing, he scrambled to his feet, then smacked one hand against his communicator and spoke into with obvious urgency.

As Selar had expected, the doors to the cargo bay opened and a second man raced into the room, face nearly as pale as that of his companion. "Everyone! In rows, against the far wall! Now!" Kyris barked as the other man aimed his phaser rifle at them. Heavy ammunition for unarmed prisoners, Selar noted with a pinprick of amusement, but perhaps not considering that three of their number had been plucked from their midst apparently without their guards being the wiser. She rose obediently to her feet, catching Alyssa Ogawa's eye and giving a tiny nod, which the other woman returned; obviously, their surmise that Crusher, Troi and Ro had been taken without Narve's approval or knowledge was correct.

Before she could do more than join the other women lined up in weary rows, the doors slid open again, and three more guards burst into the room, also heavily armed. Peris, she noted dispassionately, was at their head. They ignored Kyris, who was babbling some kind of apology or justification, instead focusing on the captives. While the other guards appearing to taking a head count, Peris seemed to be looking for a specific person. Herself, no doubt. Selar couldn't even cite logic, just instinct, for her absolute surety in this matter.

The fierce grin Peris bared as his eyes locked with her was all the answer Selar needed. Instinct had proven correct. She didn't move, just waited for him to come up to her. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her with him toward the profusely-sweating Kyris. "Well?"

Kyris shook his head. "Crusher, Troi, and Ro are missing." He didn't bother to elaborate or offer excuses. "We'll question the other prisoners and get to the bottom of this."

Peris nodded. "Everyone except the lovely doctor here. Narve wants me to question her personally." He headed toward the door, not quite dragging Selar along; she would never submit to such an indignity and therefore kept a wary eye on his body language. That alone kept her from stumbling to a halt as he abruptly stopped and threw over his shoulder. "In case you were wondering, Narve's planning on questioning you as well. Says he can't believe no one saw anything." His grin widened as Kyris blanched even whiter. Selar couldn't help but note that Reg Barclay's face was especially suited to expressing terror. She also noted that Narve did not seem the type to tolerate mistakes; it was apparent Kyris shared that opinion.

Selar and Peris left the cargo bay without further backward glances. The other prisoners knew exactly what Selar knew: that three of their number had been plucked away via transporter for reasons unknown. And now, it was obvious, without Narve's awareness. She felt no pity for whomever had taken such a bold move, if it was one of the pirate commander's own men. Nor had she joined her fellow prisoners in their speculation as to the reasons behind the abduction. Or rescue, depending on how optimistic the speaker had been at the time the whispered comments had begun flowing between them. Abduction or rescue, the only result so far had been a raising of suspicion among the Uxmalians, which could possibly benefit their prisoners. She was content to wait for the correct moment to act.

Peris kept his vice-like grip on her arm the entire time they marched down the corridors. Nor did he remove his phaser from its place against her side. He said not a word until they reached Sickbay, not the destination Selar had expected. "Here we are."

She raised an eyebrow as he pulled her through the doors, stopped, and ordered them locked behind them. "Am I to be questioned here?" she permitted herself to ask.

Peris ignored her as he searched Sickbay, dragging her with him as he peered under the furniture and opened cabinets. Whatever he was looking for, she ascertained, was too large to be contained in a drawer, as he completely ignored smaller places of concealment in favor of larger spaces. Including the Jeffries tube that had been installed during the refit. He peered in it, but seemed unwilling to let her go in order to explore it further.

Once he'd finished his rather haphazard search, he indicated a chair and finally released Selar's arm. She sat down as indicated, keeping an eye on the phaser he still held directly toward her as he slapped his comm badge. "Peris to Narve."

" _Narve here. Did you find Verek?"_

"No. Crusher must have moved him after Troi left, hidden him somewhere else." Selar did not volunteer the information that Peris had missed at least three potential hiding places large enough to hold a body; if Worf didn't know they were there, then she certainly wasn't going to share that information with Peris. "Want me to keep looking?" Peris asked with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

" _No,"_ Narve's voice came back. _"Once the others find Crusher, I'll make her tell me where she hid him. Selar is your priority now."_ The comm badge when silent.

Selar found this conversation highly informative, brief though it was. Crusher was not in custody, but Troi apparently was, and Verek was missing. Interesting. Logic dictated that he must be the one responsible for removing the other women from the cargo bay, but without his commander's approval or knowledge. Even more interesting.

Peris turned his attention back to his prisoner with a gleam in his eyes that did not bode well for her. Selar found it difficult to look at him as he watched her through Worf's eyes, especially since she knew the Klingon was there as well, locked up and helpless and no doubt roaring with frustrated outrage. Once again his chosen mate was in peril, and once again he was unable to assist her. She returned her complete focus to Peris as he began to speak. "We're cut off from command functions, locked out by some kind of medical emergency code." He yanked her to her feet and shoved her against the bulkhead. "Narve wants you to override it."

"Such a medical emergency code can only be overridden by the CMO," Selar replied evenly. She wasn't lying, not entirely; if necessary she could probably figure out a way around the medical lock-down. But not for these pirates, not without a fight.

"Narve thought you'd say that." Peris bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. "It might even be true. But I'm supposed to make sure you're telling the truth, and find out what you know about how Dr. Crusher escaped. Using any means I deem necessary," he added, obviously savoring every word.

Selar studied him, gauging his words and the intent behind them. "You could simply take control of me," she pointed out, although logic predicted his most likely response; if that were his intent, he would have done so in the cargo bay, in the presence of others.

As expected, he shook his head. "Only as a last resort. Narve doesn't want anyone out of their bodies until we find Crusher and Verek and find out what the hell she did to him."

He moved closer, pressing the phaser once more against her side as he crowded her against the bulkhead. "Then how do you intend to verify whatever information you believe I will give you?" Selar asked, knowing he would expect her to ask, and willing to play along until she could find some way to turn the situation to her own advantage. She glanced at the medical cart that blocked the entrance to what she suspected to be Verek's current hiding place. "Drugs?"

"Them too," Peris agreed, then lunged forward and sank his teeth into her shoulder so quickly she had no time to react beyond a slight hiss of pain. He flung the phaser across the room and grasped both her forearms. She felt her uniform tear as he pulled his head back with a sharp motion, and ignored the blood flowing from the wound he'd inflicted.

She understood now. He was disdaining more effective means of interrogation in favor of fulfilling his own frustrated desire to revenge. She had escaped his custody, and now she must pay. He would no doubt administer the drugs Narve expected him to use as soon as he had forced himself upon her sexually.

It was the moment she had been waiting for, the time for her to make her own move. The longer she delayed Peris, the better the chance that Dr. Crusher would find another way to outwit Narve's pirates, or at least send out a distress signal. Without further thought or analysis, Selar seized on the course of action she knew she must now follow, knowing she had to move quickly and convincingly. She spared a moment's concentration on speeding up her heartbeat, allowing her breathing to become ragged as she used the most expedient meditation she knew to increase her body temperature just the slightest bit. She turned her head and kissed Peris full on the lips, just as he removed his mouth from its depredations on her uniform.

He'd made a ragged tear from shoulder to shoulder, exposing her throat and a large portion of her chest before raising his head with the obvious intention of forcing a kiss on her, and she could sense his alarm and arousal as she forestalled this move by doing it herself. "How did you know?" she murmured thickly, trying to make herself sound dazed. "Did Worf realize I was coming into _Pon Farr_ , is that why you're doing this? Because you know I cannot maintain control over myself much longer?"

She kissed him again without waiting for an answer, as passionately as she could, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and allowing a moan, ostensibly of pleasure, to escape her lips as he returned the kiss with brutal fervor. If he accepted the fiction she had just offered, it would be much easier for her to put her plans into action.

Peris pulled out of the kiss before she did, breathing raggedly as he studied her face, apparently trying to gauge whether she spoke the truth or not. "Worf doesn't think Vulcans can lie," he muttered. Selar saw the conflicting emotions flickering across his face as he hesitated. "You're the one who started with him," he continued, apparently delving into Worf's memories for confirmation of her words. "You told him you wanted to be with him, and he was surprised; he thought he would have to make the first move."

Selar sensed his growing excitement, his desire to believe what she was telling him. After all, even if she was lying, he still believed himself to be fully in control of the situation. She remained unmoving, not fighting his grip on her arms, her body trembling as if she were holding herself under rigid control—and losing. "Worf is howling like anything," Peris said, almost as an afterthought. "He wants me out even worse than before! Too bad his first time with you will be with me!"

Peris laughed again as he dove in for another kiss. Selar rolled her head from side to side, murmuring, as if to herself: "I am Vulcan, my emotions do not control me, I control them…." She broke off with a gasp, eyes widened, then shook her head as if unsuccessfully trying to clear it. Peris kissed her again, and again, until she responded, as if surrendering to her body's own desires. She gave another low moan and finally moved, pressing her body against his, hiding her distaste as she felt the physical manifestation of his desire against her abdomen. She allowed herself to cry out, biting it off as if in shame as he moved his lips to the exposed area of her torso, leaving a trail of moist kisses from neck to ragged edges of the material barely covering the tips of her breasts.

Peris tugged her hands down, impatiently reaching for the cloth that was impeding his progress. Her telepathic skills, as he'd so gleefully pointed out, were not very strong, but they still existed, and she waited, writhing against him as if all thought had been abandoned, until he reached that point himself and left himself unguarded for the only attack he was not prepared for.

Selar moved her hands as she felt his desire swell, coolly allowing him free reign to her now-exposed breasts, even arching her back to give him fuller access. She kept her fingers carefully away from his neck and what he would perceive, even under these circumstances, as an attack. Instead, she put her hands on his head, running her fingers through Worf's hair and bringing her hands to his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs beneath his eyes and gently forcing his face back up to meet hers.

He met her gaze with eyes shining with a mixture of lust and triumph. He gave a guttural laugh. "You can't help yourself, can you. I could be here in anyone's body and you'd be ready to go; you can't even keep yourself away from someone you hate! No wonder Vulcans don't talk about their rut cycle; you're just like animals when it hits you." His grin widened. "Lucky me."

Selar didn't speak, merely allowed a slight grimace to quirk the edges of her lips. If he chose to take that small movement as an admission, so be it. Her tongue darted between her lips, and it was his turn to moan and thrust his head towards her for another kiss.

Selar allowed it, welcomed it as a distraction from where her fingers were placing themselves on his temples and the sides of his face. A face she had wanted to explore like this, but not with the mind currently dominating the body. _Worf,_ she vowed silently, _when this over and our enemy vanquished, we shall do this properly. Forgive me._ And she opened her mind to her enemy.

By the time Peris realized something was happening, something more than the crude coupling he desired, it was too late. _Contact!_ "My mind to your mind," Selar whispered against his lips, the ancient phrase ringing in the sudden silence. "My thoughts to your thoughts…"

Worf's eyes widened, and Peris managed to pull his face away from hers, but not to break that grip, either physical or mental. Selar framed a fleeting request for absolution to Surak for what she was doing, but knew that she would continue even if the ancient Vulcan sage, the man called the Father of Logic and her people's greatest hero, appeared before her and directly forbade it. There was too much at stake.

A mind meld was her only hope of overpowering Peris and, perhaps, freeing Worf. She gritted her teeth and forced her thoughts deeper into those of the invader.

If she succeeded, it would be the first meld she had ever performed on her own.


	14. Reunited

**Interlude**

Crusher whirled at the sound of the door opening, phaser in one hand, tricorder in the other. She held the weapon at the ready even when Guinan walked in with a grim looking Ro Laren in tow. Only Guinan's continued reassurances that no one would be able to take over her body had allowed Crusher, reluctantly, to allow her to scout out the whereabouts of Troi and Ro. That, an her further assurances that she sensed something wrong, that her presence was urgently needed.

The two women came to an immediate stop, only moving forward once Crusher nodded her permission and placed the weapon and the tricorder on the counter next to her. "You're clean. What happened to Deanna?"

"Counselor Troi managed to free me from Data's quarters, but we were captured." Ro quickly repeated her story to Crusher, just as she'd told it to Guinan only moments before. "So now Narve knows we're out," she concluded grimly. "That isn't going to leave us much time."

Crusher nodded her agreement. With Narve and the others locked out of the ship's computers, his incentive to find her had been tripled. Quadrupled, even. Riker and Troi's actions had helped and hindered at the same time, but she could hardly fault them for doing the only thing they could under the circumstances.

"Narve was furious," Ro continued in a subdued voice. "I don't know what he's going to do to them"

"We can't worry about it right now," Crusher replied, her gentle tone softening the harsh words. "We have to focus on getting all of us out of this mess."

Ro nodded, but her eyes were haunted as she said: "Right. So what do we do now?"

**oOo**

Troi came slowly to consciousness, unmoving, unsure of her whereabouts. She felt a cold, hard surface beneath her, and opened her eyes only after an intense internal debate. The shimmer of a force field greeted her, and the sight of a man's pair of uniformed legs and the butt of a phaser rifle resting on the floor just past that barrier told her she was in the brig. Then her vision blurred and she passed out again.

Some time later she woke back up. After contemplating the idea of being in another, less uncomfortable position, she somehow found the energy to pull herself up to her knees. Her already frayed party dress tore as she accidentally knelt on it, and that sound brought her guard's attention back to her. The legs turned, then bent as he squatted down to meet her at eye level. "Your little stunt on the bridge is going to cost you and the Commander big time," he said conversationally. It was a Lieutenant from security, dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyed, whose name she knew was swimming around in her subconscious somewhere, lurking just beyond her reach. "Enjoy your time alone." Then he rose back to his feet and vanished from her sight completely.

Troi turned her back on the force field and crawled over to the corner between the wall and the padded bench that served as both bunk and seating in the compact cell. The effort to pull herself up onto that surface seemed impossible right now.

She wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her head onto her knees, listening to her ragged breathing. Gradually she became aware of the noises around her again; the soft hum of the force field equipment, the guard speaking softly to someone, the beep of his communicator as he pressed it and spoke to someone else, his words too low for her to make them out. She felt herself shivering, noted it in the back of her mind, tried half-heartedly to stop, but soon gave up. It was shock, she was in shock and should do something about it, but what was there to do, locked in the brig?

_I helped kill a helpless being, destroyed him with my empathic abilities,_ she thought as another shiver convulsed her body. She fought back a surge of nausea as her mind flashed to that instant on the Bridge. Never, never had she experienced anything like it. Even Narve's threats faded to insignificance compared to what Mast had used her to do.

At least Will had survived, Mast hadn't lied about that. She could feel his presence, dimly, somewhere close. Riker still survived, but of Larsch there was no sign. Mast had literally blasted him into non-existence, combining his own considerable will with her empathic abilities, twisting them into something they were never meant to be: a weapon.

A moan escaped her as she continued to struggle with the consequences of her actions, never mind that she'd been under someone else's control when it happened. The first time she'd been possessed and then discarded, it had been her physical being that was abused. Now, she found herself empathizing with Picard in a way she'd never imagined possible, not in her worst nightmares. This time, she was the one who had inflicted a terrible injury on a friend, on the man she loved, and it was almost too much for her to bear.

_/Imzadi./_

The voice was inside her mind, had repeated itself, tentative and weak, before she realized she was truly hearing it, that it wasn't some phantom echo or her own mind playing tricks on her. "Imzadi?" she whispered, raising her head. She licked dry lips and tried to broadcast a response. / _Imzadi?/_

_/Can you hear me? Deanna, are you there?/_

It was Will, she was hearing his mental voice, weak and strained just like her own, but recognizable, and she felt her emotions stirring, trying to break free of the shock and terror of the last hour. _/I'm here, Imzadi./_ She felt tears seeping around the edges of her tightly closed eyes, leaking onto her cheeks and down her chin, tears of relief and release. She'd expected Will to be damaged, to be too hurt to recover from the backlash of what Mast had forced her to do to Larsch; she'd been so afraid that even if he was alive, he wouldn't be the same. She'd sensed that he was alive; now, she knew he was well, and that knowledge did more for her than a dozen visits to a Federation Counselor ever could. Their link had been reestablished, smoothly and quickly, and that helped even more. Even half-dead with shock and mental outrage, they had found each other, had joined together, and she knew that bond was stronger than it ever had been, even when they first loved each other ten years ago. _Never again,_ she vowed silently. _Never again will I allow anyone or anything to come between us._

_/Neither will I./_ Troi smiled at Riker's response; even though she hadn't intended to send out her thoughts, he still heard them. And just like that, the shivering stopped.

Riker sensed her love, her fierce protectiveness, through the link, and it gave him the strength to rise from his own bunk. He'd clambered onto it only moments ago, after hearing the guard speaking to Deanna, but now he slipped off and sought the corner adjacent to the one she occupied, some sense guiding him unerringly to her side. Separated by the impassible width of a brig wall, he knew he had never felt closer to her. _/So. What do we do now?/_

Troi laughed, a sound that translated through their link as pure, elemental joy. Because Will wasn't just asking what she thought would happen next, he was getting information from her so they could plan their escape, or find some way to help the others. And that was the Will Riker she knew and loved. There were hurts there, hurts caused by Mast and Larsch, but nothing he couldn't recover from.

And if he could do it, so could she. She settled closer to the wall, putting her hand against it. He mirrored the action and they sat there, unmoving, while she shared everything she knew about Beverly Crusher's plans with him.


	15. Starfleet Training In Action

Crusher worked furiously to fine-tune the newest and, she hoped, most effective containment field, while Guinan assumed the now-familiar post of watch, hovering by the door with Verek's phaser in hand. Ro sat at a secondary console, brow furrowed with intense concentration as she worked to configure the transporters to Crusher's specifications, first to pull the Uxmalians out of their host bodies and then to shunt them to the pattern buffer in the main transporter, where the doctor's containment field was set to go off as soon as it detected the presence of all 150 pirates. There would be no second chances here, and if they didn't succeed, no matter how much Narve and his men wanted them alive, she knew he'd kill them all for jeopardizing this escape attempt.

"There!" Alerted by the triumphant note in Crusher's voice, Ro moved even faster, inputting the last of the commands with a rapidity that would have astounded her if she hadn't been so focused on what she was doing. Once the last piece of information was entered and locked in, she turned to face the doctor.

"It's set and timed," Crusher announced without looking up from the board she was scowling over. "Are the transporters configured?"

"My part's all set," Ro declared with a final glance at her work. She looked up, meeting Crusher's eyes for the first time in an hour, her face carefully neutral but unable to hide the hint of challenge in her voice.

The doctor took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. "Now all we have to do is get the transporters on-line." She glanced downward. "And to do that, we need someone with access."

"Verek," Guinan put in. "Mylal and Narve are out of the question."

"But we need more than him; we need someone who can get the information out of him. Dr. Selar," Ro said flatly. Guinan had already told them she had no way of "getting into Verek's head," which left them no alternative. "Otherwise this whole plan is useless." There was an implied rebuke in her voice, which Crusher acknowledged with a weary nod.

She had insisted on doing the preliminary work, "the easy part" first, knowing full well they hadn't even touched on the main stumbling block to her plan – how to unlock the transporters. They could refigure them until Nana Howard's proverbial cows came home, but they were still barred from activating them. Narve's encryption and lockout had been set in place well before the emergency code had forced him out of the command functions, and there was nothing Crusher could do to reverse that lockout.

Ro had started to question her on this, but Crusher had sharply ordered the younger woman to stick to the problem at hand. Ro had acquiesced, grumbling but apparently willing to forego arguing until later. There was simply no time to debate which aspect of their deadly situation to tackle first. Guinan had wisely opted out of the discussion.

Crusher knew Ro was right, it was a problem that had to be dealt with, but she forced it out of her mind as she worked out the problems with the EM containment field. The data she had obtained from Verek's bioluminescent aura told her that using such a field against them for a third time was going to be problematic, even though it was still the only way she'd found to hold them even for a short period of time. The Uxmalians in their non-corporeal form were incredibly adaptable; her original field had failed because it wasn't strong enough, and the data indicated that the same fate would have eventually befallen her second field if they'd attempted to hold the prisoners within in for more than 48 hours.

This time, however, they were more than 48 hours away from the original prison planet, and she doubted they'd have time to seek out a suitable alternative nearby, although they'd certainly give it their best shot. She hoped she had the timing and strength ratios worked out, but she couldn't be sure, not without tests she suspected she'd never have time to run.

"Guinan." The other woman stepped closer, and Crusher looked steadily into her eyes. "It's time. Are you ready?"

The dark-skinned woman nodded. "Time to get Verek, and time to get Dr. Selar or Counselor Troi, or both if I can."

"Computer, locate Counselor Troi and Dr. Selar," Crusher said.

"Dr. Selar and Counselor Troi are in the brig," the computer's feminine yet mechanical voice replied.

Ro arched an eyebrow. "Well, that's convenient; Narve must have taken Dr. Selar there once he realized you were missing." She looked at Guinan. "Let's see if we can figure out the best way to get there from here. Then we'll go after Verek."

Crusher nodded. "Good luck, to both of you." She watched as they reviewed the Jeffries tube schematics, forced for now into doing nothing more than waiting.

**oOo**

The door to the brig whooshed open, and the guard on duty stretched and yawned without turning around. He was sitting at the control system, facing the prisoners, who hadn't moved in what seemed like hours. It was like watching statues, and he'd considered doing something to rouse them if only to alleviate his own boredom. "You're early," he grumbled. "Not that I mind; guarding these two is about as exciting as watching fungus grow."

He finally looked up, springing to his feet and grabbing for his phaser as he confronted two unexpected figures. He gaped at Selar, then realized that Peris was holding a phaser against her side, that her shoulder was bleeding from what appeared to be a bite mark, that her clothing was torn and her hair mussed. The Klingon grinned broadly at his reaction. "What—what?" he stammered, half-lowering his weapon in confusion.

"Narve had me question her," Peris said, jerking his head at his prisoner. "So I did. Now I'm supposed to put her in here so I can get back to looking for Dr. Crusher."

"No one told me," the other man protested, finally holstering his phaser, obviously reassured that the situation was what it appeared to be. He stepped forward. "So I guess I'll take it from here, Peris." He reached for Selar as the other man pushed her forward.

As he touched her arm, Selar moved smoothly away, stepping behind him and administering a Vulcan nerve pinch before he realized what was happening. As he slumped to the floor, Worf sprang to the console, operating the controls and freeing Troi and Riker.

Troi gaped at first Worf, then Selar. She had assumed her crewmate to still be under the control of the Uxmalians, since Peris had been positively identified by the now-unconscious guard, but their actions said otherwise. Selar's entire demeanor had changed; her posture had assumed it usual erect elegance, and she had somehow closed up the jagged tear in her uniform and slapped a bandage on her wound, all while Troi hesitantly stepped out of her cell, exchanging confused glances with Will Riker.

Selar removed the unconscious man's comm. badge, then watched coolly as Worf dragged him into one of the cells and raised the containment field. Then he raised his phaser and shot the control panel. Without a word, he headed for the door, pausing only to drop his own comm badge onto the floor.

He was the first to step quietly into the hall, looking first one way and then the other before motioning for the rest to follow. They made their way down the corridor to the nearest Jeffries tube entrance, where Worf waved the three of them ahead of him into the dimly lit access tunnels. He clambered in behind them, pulling the door tightly shut as they others crawled away as quickly as they could.

Not until they had reached a junction in the tunnel and followed it up two levels and across three or four turnings did they stop to rest, Selar calling the halt as she spoke for the first time. "We're safe to stop for a moment."

"With all due respect, doctor, would you mind telling us what the hell is going on?" Riker demanded, glaring suspiciously at Worf. "How did you get him to help us?" Deanna had shared her knowledge of the alien's auras with him, so he too knew that the only way the guard had identified Worf as Peris was because that aura was still visible.

"You are in error regarding your assumptions about Commander Worf and Peris," was Selar's calm reply. "Although Peris still occupies Worf's body, their situations have been reversed."

"Peris is the prisoner," Troi breathed in sudden understanding. "You've somehow managed to free Worf while forcing Peris to remain in his body."

Selar nodded. "I convinced Peris I was undergoing the _Pon Farr_ when he began questioning me. That allowed me to get close enough to initiate a mind meld."

The matter-of-fact tone belied the amount of self-discipline it took the Vulcan woman to make that statement. The Vulcan seven-year mating cycle was an open, if politely ignored, secret, at least in Starfleet circles. It was no longer treated as the shameful secret it had been only a hundred years earlier, but it was still a very private matter.

"That meld allowed us to bond," Worf interjected impatiently. "Because of it, we have been able to contain Peris. He is not enjoying his imprisonment," he added, baring his teeth in a savage grin.

Troi didn't need her empathy to tell how much Worf was relishing his previous captor's reversal of fortune. "Congratulations," was all she said, both to the bonding announcement and to their success in taking care of Peris. She touched Will's hand, sensing the doubt in his mind. "It's all right, they're telling the truth. I can feel Peris' anger and frustration quite clearly."

She felt Riker relax beneath her hand. "So now we have the perfect spy, someone they won't suspect." He nodded approvingly, then glanced down at Troi's hand, frowning as he saw her bare knees; there were spots of blood on them. Without a word he removed his uniform shirt, then pulled off his under-tunic and handed it to her. While he put his shirt back on, she tore the undergarment into strips and bound them around her knees.

"Such impersonation will only be effective in situations such as the one we just left," Selar cautioned. "Prolonged exposure to those who know Peris well is not recommended."

"Neither is remaining here," Worf interrupted with a growl. "We must find Dr. Crusher." He looked at Troi inquiringly.

"I'm not sure where she went," she admitted. "We were taken to Sickbay by Verek, then Dr. Crusher and Guinan left to work on the problem of ridding ourselves of our unwanted guests."

"Guinan is still alive? And on the ship?" Worf asked in astonishment. "How is that possible? Peris remembers her being killed by Mast…never mind," he interrupted himself. It wasn't important to know how, only to analyze the strategic possibilities the El-Aurian's survival offered. "Does anyone else know?"

"Mast does," Troi replied. "But he didn't tell Narve, because he wants to deal with her himself. He's angrier than I've ever sensed, as close to out of control as he ever seems to become." She shuddered. "What he intends for her will make what he did to Larsch seem tame by comparison."

Selar and Worf refrained from asking just what had been done, allowing Troi her privacy as she had allowed them their privacy regarding their newly formed bond. Peris' second-hand knowledge of the event was enough for them to know that whatever Mast had used Troi to do to Larsch had been deeply disturbing to the empathic counselor, who still appeared shaken by the event.

"Mast no doubt wishes to use you to extract his revenge," Worf declared. "That is what Peris believes, which means he will be coming for you soon."

"Which means we have even less time than we thought," Riker concluded, getting to his knees. "The only problem is, we don't know where to go."

"I believe I can make a reasonable deduction as to Dr. Crusher's whereabouts," Selar put in, as she and the others also moved from sitting positions. "If the computer in Sickbay was enabled as Counselor Troi says, logically Dr. Crusher would have used it to transfer the information to another station that is directly linked to it and therefore more easily accessed without alerting Narve. There is such a station in the bio lab two decks down from Sickbay. There are six other possibilities," she added, "but I believe that would be the logical starting point."

Worf grunted, then indicated that she should lead them. They set off, saving their breath for the arduous journey ahead.


	16. Take A Deep Breath

**Interlude**

Narve paced the captain's ready room, an angry scowl on his face and murder in his heart. He slammed a fist against the wall, rattling Picard's lionfish tank. Things were not proceeding as planned. Again. What the hell was it about these people and their inability to bow to the inevitable? "Humans," he muttered under his breath as he slammed into Picard's chair, turning to face the view port. The stars continued to stream away from them, but he no longer had control over their destination. All because Verek had chosen, for still unknown reasons, to free some of the prisoners. Had he been somehow co-opted by them? It seemed impossible, especially since Mast said Crusher had deactivated him, but he could rule nothing out until he understood _why_ Verek had done what he had done.

"It's all your damn fault, Picard," he grumbled aloud. "How could you possibly allow your crew to have access to a code that only your CMO can cancel out? What kind of stupidity is that? Even you don't know it!"

Picard was silent, and Narve knew it was because he was waiting to see what would happen next. He already knew that battling Narve was pointless, that there was no way for him to escape, and so had lapsed into a sort of pool of calmness. Narve tried to shake his emotional steadiness by projecting graphic images of what he intended to do to both Crusher and Troi, but even that wasn't enough to force a reaction out of his captive. It was if he were managing the kind of rigid mental control that Narve routinely practiced, and he felt a grudging admiration for the man. Picard might have some skewed values about the sanctity of life and letting others make their own decisions no matter how poor their judgment, but other than that Narve found much in common with him.

"Rot in there, Picard," Narve suddenly growled. "When I'm ready to take over a new body, I'll take great pleasure in letting you have control only long enough for me to kill you." With a snarl of rage, he swept his arm across Picard's desk, sending everything flying, then stormed out of the room and back onto the Bridge.

**oOo**

Worf studied to the door to the Bio Lab. It was locked, confirming Selar's deduction that this was where Dr. Crusher had fled after deactivating Narve. With no means to communicate with her other than pounding on the door, a method unlikely to meet with success, there was only one option open to them. Worf jerked his head, signaling Riker to join him, then opened the access hatch and removed the emergency magnetic clamps, handing one to the First Officer and taking one for himself.

Selar and Troi alternated between watching the two men get to work and making sure no one came upon them unexpectedly. All four froze when the door suddenly opened and Ensign Ro appeared, a phaser held to Worf's head. "Drop it."

He responded by opening his hand and allowing both the clamp and his phaser to fall to the deck. She kicked it back into the Bio Lab with one foot, never removing her eyes from his. "Hands up." When he and the others complied, she stepped back. "In here."

They filed in one at a time and stood just inside the door as Ro locked it behind them. "Dr. Crusher!" she called.

Crusher appeared from around the corner, tricorder in one hand. She reached down and scooped up Worf's phaser before aiming the tricorder at each of the four newcomers, scanning them all but frowning over Worf's readings the longest. "The others are clean, but he's still under an Uxmalian's control." She scowled. "At least, I think he is. There are some anomalies." She looked up at Troi. "Explain."

Ro only half-listened, keeping her phaser trained on Worf, the one identified as the most immediate threat. It was Crusher's job to determine the truth of the Counselor's words, and it was hers to make sure nothing went wrong. If Crusher ordered her to shoot, she would.

When Troi fell silent, Crusher shut the tricorder with a snap and leveled Worf's phaser at them. "I can't tell from these readings whether Worf is in control or not," she said, her voice icy. "For all I know, he let you think that in order to use you to find me."

"Peris is not that clever," Selar said. A brief smile crossed Worf's face. "Besides, if that were true, he would have contacted Narve and attempted to recapture us once I determined your most logical destination."

"I know she's telling the truth," Troi put in quietly. "Will and I had the same questions, but I can sense emotions much more clearly now that I've had time to put some distance between what Mast did to Larsch and how he used me to do it." Her voice faltered, and Will risked lowering his hand to place it on her shoulder for an encouraging squeeze. She shot him a grateful smile before returning her attention to Crusher. "My empathy was in as much a state of shock as I was, but it's recovering now. I can tell Worf and Peris apart again, with no emotional blurring, and Worf is definitely in control. Peris is not." There was a note of finality in her voice that seemed to finally convince Crusher, who lowered her phaser and nodded at Ro to do the same. The others lowered their arms and relaxed just a little.

Crusher took a deep breath. "OK. Here's where we stand at the moment."


	17. Racing to the Finish

Ro and Guinan made their stealthy way back to Sickbay, avoiding more than one of Narve's patrols through the grace of Guinan's slowly recovering intuition. They were to bring Verek back to consciousness at a prearranged time, after restraining him in a stasis field. It was still a risk, but he had to be aware and in control, at least nominally, of Data's body when the attempt to remove him from it was made. Fortunately they didn't need to find a way to force him to operate the transporters, as Riker had been able to help them with that problem. Larsch, apparently, had discovered the codes that only Narve, Mylal and Verek were supposed to know.

Peris had been freed shortly before Ro and Guinan left for Sickbay, although they were forced to use more primitive means to restrain the Klingon than a stasis field, since there were no biobeds in the Bio Lab. Crusher had retained the binders Verek had used on Deanna, and apologetically clamped them around Worf's wrists as they further secured him to the chair with ropes hastily made from torn-up strips off Troi's ever-shrinking evening gown and Crusher's t-shirt. The two women had changed into red surgical garb and were happy to donate their now-useless clothing to a worthy cause.

Riker stood at the ready with a phaser as added security, just in case. He hoped it was an unnecessary precaution, but Worf advised it and Riker agreed. Selar cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Worf as he tested his bonds, then nodded as he grunted his approval. She walked over and placed tender fingers against the proper nerve clusters, initiated the meld, then silently withdrew the bond that allowed Worf to retain control of his body. _/We will do this properly once this situation is back under our control,/_ he silently vowed, and she responded with the slight smile he now knew covered a deep well of tightly-restrained emotion.

Although it galled the security chief to allow himself to once again become a prisoner in his own body, if Crusher's desperate plan worked it would be more than worth it. He looked forward to Peris' removal, anticipated his own freedom with a ferocity that dwarfed even the Uxmalian's outrage and fear. Peris also knew what Crusher planned, not only to remove him from his chosen host but what would happen if the containment field failed. Discorporation into the depths of space was not how he wanted to go, and he screamed that at the four in the room as soon as he had control of Worf's vocal chords again.

That had been the last sound Ro and Guinan heard as they left. Once safely ensconced in Sickbay, they had removed Data from his hiding place, hefting him with some difficulty onto the nearest biobed. Data was much heavier than he looked.

Once he was on the bed, they flipped him on his side, unspeaking, fully aware of how little time they had. They'd made it to Sickbay within minutes of their original estimate, but the clock was still ticking. Ro frantically worked the controls for the stasis field while Guinan positioned herself near Data's inert form. Once she was all set, she nodded at Ro. "Ready." She pressed Data's "restart button", jumping back just as the field snapped into place.

The change was instantaneous. Data's eyes snapped open, taking in his surroundings and Ro's presence. Verek smiled, although Ro thought it seemed strained. "Missed me that much, eh?" he prodded.

Ro ignored him, keeping her eyes on his immobilized form, her fingers ready to extend the field fully if he showed any signs of trying to free himself. Guinan moved to stand next to her, studying their captive expressionlessly. She was rewarded by a startled widening of Data's eyes, and a flood of curses that flowed from his mouth for almost a full minute before he stopped. "Mast said you were dead!"

Guinan shrugged. "He was wrong. Obviously."

"He saw you die," Verek continued to protest.

She shrugged again. "He saw what I wanted him to see."

"Then it's a good thing I'm looking more closely now."

Ro and Guinan both whirled at the sound of that unexpected voice, the Bajoran's fingers racing for her phaser. Too late; even as her own hand folded around the weapon, Mast had already fired his own phaser, aiming for her hand with deadly accuracy. Ro collapsed to the floor with a grunt of pain, clutching her burned fingers to her chest. He'd managed to get her in the leg with the same shot; there was no way she could pull herself to her feet but she still tried, until another phaser blast, a warning this time, sizzled the deck in front of her. She stopped moving, looking up at him with the promise of death in her eyes, if she could just get her hands on him…

Mast ignored her, concentrating on Guinan, who hadn't moved except to turn and face him. She'd spared a glance for Ro, gauging the magnitude of the other woman's wounds and determining they wouldn't be immediately fatal before focusing exclusively on Mast.

"It's about time," Verek snapped from behind her. "Get me out of this damn thing!"

"Why should I?" Mask asked, still staring at Guinan. "You got yourself into this mess, Verek. Get yourself out."

Data's mouth tightened at the indifference in the other man's voice. "I am still Narve's Second," he replied through gritted teeth. "Which means you still have to take orders from me."

"I take orders from Narve," Mast corrected absently, stepping over Ro's body. He paused, then with deliberate aim he kicked her in the side of the head. She collapsed into full unconsciousness without a sound as he forced Guinan toward the opposite wall with a wave of his phaser.

"You sure are talking big for someone who screwed up an assassination that Narve personally ordered," Verek snarled. "What do you think he's going to do once he finds out?"

Mast turned cold eyes on his fellow Uxmalian. "What do you think he's going to do to you, since he already knows you set Crusher and the others free without his permission?" He allowed a moment for that to sink in, then continued. "I'll make you a deal, Verek. You say nothing about Guinan, and I help you come up with a way to keep him from killing you for mutiny. I made a mistake by underestimating this witch." He waved the phaser contemptuously at Guinan, who continued to stand, unmoving, by the far wall. "You did what you did deliberately. Narve will see that at treason, pure and simple. I'll be punished, but you'll be as dead as Larsch."

Verek said nothing for a long moment, then tried to nod. "All right," he agreed, in unwilling capitulation. Mast's assessment of the situation was grimly accurate. "You win. I'll keep my mouth shut, but how are you gonna be able to help me?"

Mast shrugged. "We'll find some story to tell him. Right now isn't the time to worry about it." He returned his attention to Guinan. "Right now," he added softly, "I have a job to finish." He raised the phaser with deliberate slowness, and without increasing the setting. Generally he was satisfied with the simple destruction of his targets, but not this time. Guinan had tricked him, not once but twice, and that was not to be tolerated. For that, she would suffer, and he would watch to see how quickly her composure was destroyed. Not as quickly as her body would be, by his reckoning, but certainly by the end she would be reduced to begging for mercy. Just like all his other victims.

Verek demanded his freedom again, but Mast ignored him as he cursed in the background. Guinan had to be punished first, truly killed, and visible body left for evidence. It would be easier for him to dispatch Verek afterwards; he had no intention of allowing anyone to survive that knew of his errors.

Guinan stiffened, still not speaking, chin raised defiantly as Mast stepped nearer, pointing the phaser not at her heart or head, but at her arm. The message was clear; he intended for her to suffer. Her many talents wouldn't be able to save her, not this time. The best she could manage was to die with as much dignity as she could muster, which had always been formidable. She would never give Mast the satisfaction of hearing her beg for mercy.

As he leveled the phaser at her, finger tightening on the firing mechanism, Guinan saw him suddenly stop, frozen in mid-motion even as Verek stopped speaking in mid-curse. The bioelectrical glow Crusher had postulated as a possible side-effect of the extraction process manifested around the bodies of both men, shrinking down as rapidly as they blossomed into existence, until only their heads were engulfed. Guinan felt her lips curve in a faint smile, and she stepped smoothly out of the path of the phaser. "It's working," she whispered, stepping right up to the man who had been about to kill her. "Good-bye, Mast, here's hoping we never meet again." She raised a finger and pushed aside the phaser, which fell to the floor with a quiet thud, then kicked it away and settled in to wait for the rest of Crusher's plan to take effect.

**oOo**

Narve froze. Something felt…off. Something was wrong, and he couldn't tell what. There was a buzzing in his ears, and he howled in outrage as he recognized a sensation he'd felt only once before. How the hell had Crusher discovered the manner in which they'd been separated from their original bodies? Because there was no doubt in his mind that was what was happening now. The tingle, the immobility, the inability to do more than rage at the absolute unfairness of the situation, his helplessness…it was all horribly familiar. He could see the dawning recognition and fear in the faces of the crewmembers in front of him, the ones who had been in his line of sight before he was suddenly paralyzed as a procedure he'd never thought to endure again made its inevitable way through his mind and body.

Separating them.

There was no pain, it was nothing like the method Crusher had used to extract them the last time. He knew that only seconds had passed, that he had only seconds left before he temporarily lost consciousness, and he raged futilely at Picard, damn him, began to laugh.

It was the last sound he heard before darkness overtook him.


	18. Reclamation Project

"It's working."

Crusher's terse words were the only sounds besides the soft whirring and buzzing of the computers. She was alone with Worf and Selar, having sent Troi and Riker ahead to the main transporter after Riker gave her the codes to open them. The plan was for her to join them as soon as she verified that all of Narve's men had been forced out of their stolen bodies and caught and held in the pattern buffers. She would have preferred to leave them there, but her readings of Verek's aura indicated that they wouldn't survive for more than a few minutes, not long enough for anyone talented at transporter technology to try and figure out a way to keep them from dissipating into nothingness. Although part of her wanted very much to allow just that to happen, she knew that would be cold-blooded murder, a step she wasn't-quite-ready for.

While Crusher studied the readings, Selar kept her steady, unblinking gaze on Worf. She missed the bond they had created, even though logically it had lasted for only a few hours and would soon be renewed. At least, that was what she hoped. Yes, hoped was the correct word, she decided, after considering it's emotional connotations. If Dr. Crusher's desperate gamble worked and Peris was truly removed without damage to Worf, they would become one again.

Unfortunately, that was the main weakness in a plan full of weaknesses; it was the fate of the host minds that was most in question at this juncture. If Dr. Crusher had miscalculated-and Selar had deliberately refrained from calculating the odds of any or all of this desperate venture succeeding-then the host minds could be swept away along with the invaders. Or utterly destroyed.

Selar continued to watch, unmoving, her face revealing nothing, as a field of bioelectrical fire manifested first around Worf's body and then only his head. It did not appear to cause him pain, but his eyes filled with terror even as his body remained rigid, frozen by the delicate process of extracting Peris' unwanted essence, capturing it with the modified transporters, and shunting it into temporary storage until the rest of his comrades had been taken and could be sent with him to what was hoped to be a more secure holding place.

Crusher turned as the effect faded away, watching as Worf's rigid form slumped, unconscious, in his chair. A ball of light exploded from his head, floating in the air above him just long enough for the transporter beam to snatch it away. She held up a tricorder, breaking into a smile and nodding as the readings indicated that Peris was gone… and that Worf remained, unharmed, his readings indicating exactly what they should: an unconscious Klingon.

Crusher headed directly for the doors. The EM containment field had to be activated directly from the transporter controls; she didn't dare entrust such a delicate maneuver to remote handling, even if she were the one doing it. She paused, sparing a backward glance for the other two.

"We shall meet you at the Bridge," Selar said before Crusher could speak. She busied herself with freeing Worf, looking up just long enough to add, "Good luck, Beverly." A most un-Vulcanlike sentiment, but it seemed appropriate to the situation. Crusher nodded and offered a half-smile of acknowledgement, then went through the doors at a dead run. Once again, the clock was ticking.

Selar returned her attention to her bondmate's unconscious form. She brushed his cheek with two fingers, and a trace of a smile showed itself as he stirred beneath her touch. Worf's eyes opened, locking with hers, and a fierce smile transformed his face. He tentatively reached up with two fingers of his own, placing them against hers, and she felt herself slipping easily into the meld. Whatever had held her back in the past no longer did; the bond was reformed quickly, and she allowed herself to be pulled fully into the link. She needed to confirm that Worf was fully recovered, that the removal of Peris had caused no permanent damage to the fierce warrior she had claimed for her own.

The same small smile curved both sets of lips before they joined in a kiss, their first unwitnessed by any save themselves. Worf reveled in the freedom of being alone in his own body, save for the comforting, fulfilling mental bond he shared with Selar. He felt her own fierce joy at their finally being joined the way they were meant to be, not to control an invader but because they knew they belonged together. Vulcan emotions were just as volatile as Klingon, as Worf had always suspected; the difference lay in their outward control, but Selar wasn't even pretending to be logical right now.

They kissed again, passionately, holding each other, then broke apart, Worf jumping lightly to his feet. He and Selar headed purposefully for the doors, and from there to the Bridge. It was time to get this ship back where it belonged.

**oOo**

Crusher arrived at the main transporter room without incident, and slightly out of breath. As expected, every person she passed was sprawled unconscious on the deck. The doctor in Crusher wanted to stop and examine them, but the leader of this rebellion knew she could better serve them by ensuring their continued freedom. She dashed into the room, heading directly for the transporter controls. Riker was already there, waiting, poised to do his part.

Troi stood aside as Crusher and Riker worked, watching alertly for any sign of trouble. If they needed her, she was there, but for now the best thing she could do was stay out of the way. Crusher looked at Riker, who nodded, then stabbed his fingers down at the controls that would released the Uxmalians from the transporter beam, trapping them in the EM containment field Crusher had erected around the pad.

An eerie blue glow sprang into place even as the sparkle of the modified transporter beam manifested itself behind the glow of the barrier. The beam coalesced into a large, disorganized group of distinct balls of luminous energy. The Uxmalians were all there; she scanned the field carefully to confirm the presence of 150 separate entities, then allowed herself a moment of relief. One of the frozen balls had been trapped directly in front of her, and she had the feeling it had been heading directly for her before the beam stopped it. She imagined it was Narve, and suppressed a superstitious shiver. "We've won," she whispered, allowing herself the luxury of a relieved smile. "We beat you again, you bastard." She turned back to the transporter control. "Now we just have to get you back to your prison-"

Troi had moved further into the room, wincing at the intensity of emotion form the imprisoned Uxmalians, but thankful that Beverly's plan had worked. Just as she was about to congratulate the other woman, her eyes widened in alarm. She gasped a warning, pointing at the front of the field.

The prisoners had all been glowing at the same level of intensity once the beam had caught and held them, but now they brightened, the energy they radiated intensifying exponentially, making it difficult to look directly at them even through the muting blues of the EM field. The emotions, which had ranged from anger to hatred to terror now coalesced into a common purpose as they began burning themselves out deliberately in a desperate attempt to escape. Troi could sense their fierce determination to be free, never to return to the hopeless existence they'd escaped twice now, to get Crusher, _to kill Crusher destroy her destroy her work and her life and the lives of all who had betrayed them destroy them kill them all kill them kill them killthemkillthemkillthem…_

Troi sank to her knees, moaning at the pain, both emotional and physical, of the Uxmalian's unified hatred. She couldn't free herself from their grip, gasping for breath as if they were physically squeezing the life out of her. Crusher cursed and worked feverishly to force them to back down from whatever it was they were doing to Troi and to the containment field, which had begun to waver, emitting sparks that grew in intensity along with the glow from the prisoners.

Riker shouted out a warning: "The containment field! It's failing!"

Crusher's heart leapt into her throat as Riker backed away from the console, whipping out his phaser and taking a defensive stance over Troi's now-unconscious body. The doctor had dreaded just this event, hoping against hope that it wouldn't come to this, certainly not this soon. How could she have so grossly underestimated the strength of the field she needed to get them back to their prison? But no, her calculations had been correct, it was the abilities of the captives she hadn't been able to fully comprehend.

Riker was shouting at her, and she raised a hand, hesitating only briefly before lowering her finger in a rush and stabbing a single button. Time had run out; there wasn't any other choice. She would not allow this ship or anyone else to come under the Uxmalian's control ever again.

A final howl of defiance and rage echoed through the room as the transporter beam pulled them away, snatching them up just as the field collapsed. Then they were gone, dispersed into the cold reaches of space.

It was over.


	19. Oil on Troubled Waters

**Epilogue**

Crusher told Riker to go, to take care of Troi, who was slowly recovering from the backlash of the Uxmalian's mental assault. He'd hesitated only long enough to get her assurance that she was fine, that she would be all right. "Deanna needs you right now," she'd insisted as the other woman pulled herself groggily to a sitting position. "Take her to Selar, to check for any signs of telepathic damage. Physically, she's fine."

Deanna had confirmed that assessment, allowing Riker to pull her to her feet and from there into his arms. She'd chuckled and buried her head in his shoulder as they left the room. Crusher had gladly relinquished her temporary control of the ship, setting things as back to normal as possible under the circumstances, grateful not to be the one making decisions now. No more decisions, no more lives lost because of her. "Command sucks," she would have been heard to murmur, had anyone been there to hear her.

Selar reported in once the comm system was free, announcing no side effects other than grogginess and headaches for the newly-freed crewmen. Crusher had not responded. Instead, she walked slowly to the transporter, staring at it. It was empty, the EM field was down, there was no sign of the violence she had been forced to commit. She sat slowly on the edge and buried her head in her hands.

Picard found her that way, hours later. He stopped at the threshold, arrested by the sight of the woman he loved in such obvious pain. He moved forward, unsure, but knowing that she could not be alone for a moment longer with the guilt he knew she was feeling. He knelt by her side, speaking gently, patiently, telling her that everything was going to be fine even though she made no sign that she recognized his words or even his presence.

"Guinan was on the Bridge almost as soon as we began to regain consciousness," Picard said softly. "She told me about your plan, and that she suspected things had not gone as you had meant them to. That you needed me, even more than the ship and crew. She told me anyone could free the imprisoned crew members from the cargo bay, but only I could get through to you right now." He touched her shoulder, lightly, and felt a shiver go through her body. She raised her head from her hands, cheeks wet with tears, and reached out to hold him. He took her into his embrace, allowing her the time she needed to get herself under control.

Guinan was right; Beverly needed him more than anyone right now. She needed someone who understood exactly what she was going through, her first command decision that had resulted in a horrific loss of life.

All Picard could do for now was hold her, and hope it was something she could learn to live with.

Just as he had.

**Later**

The door chimed. "Come in," Crusher called, but remained standing by the view port, not bothering to see who it was. There was only one of two people it could be.

"Beverly."

At the sound of that familiar voice, she smiled, faintly, to herself. "Jean-Luc," she acknowledged, still without turning. Not Deanna Troi, then. Good. She wasn't in the mood for sympathetic counseling, even by the woman she considered her best friend.

She heard him moving closer, and leaned her head back. As expected, it came to rest on his shoulder. She closed her eyes as his arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer, offering her comfort she was still only barely able to accept.

His lips brushed the top of her head. "Beverly, there really was no choice," Picard murmured into her hair. "You acted properly in response to an established threat." Reminding her of what both Deanna and a Starfleet Inquiry Board had already told her-and acquitted her of.

"I still chose to push that button, rather than trying to confine them again. I could have tried harder," she said, half to herself. "I was afraid to wait too long, to let them escape."

It was the same thing she'd said at the Inquiry; that essentially she had no time to make any decision other than the one she had, but at the same time that she should have tried harder. Commander Riker and Counselor Troi, acting as witnesses, had both disagreed, although ultimately Riker's eyewitness account held more weight, especially considering his own command experience. The Inquiry Board had come to the conclusion that she had acted properly, that she had no time to seek alternate methods of containment, that the Uxmalians presented and imminent threat to the lives of all aboard the _Enterprise_. Unspoken was the knowledge that the fleet's flag ship could not be allowed to fall into the hands of proven enemies, and Crusher had prevented that as well.

There was no point in repeating any of that to Beverly; she would either come to accept her actions, move on, and continue with the command track she had only recently undertaken, or she would not. "You did what you felt you had to," Picard finally said, keeping his voice firm. "You did what you had to save this crew. What I would have done," he added, breaking his own rule about propping up others' decisions with justifications and reassurances. This was a special case.

"Did I?" Crusher's eyes snapped open, her gaze returning to the view port and the cold, distant stars streaking by. She moved forward and away from him, one hand reached up as if to touch the window before falling back to her side. She crossed her arms. "I wonder. The Uxmalians were motivated by revenge, and I'll always wonder if that colored my own actions. If I was just being vengeful." She hadn't had to undergo nearly as intensive counseling sessions from being raped by Narve as she had to help her try to come to grips with her own actions.

"You have to concentrate on the lives you saved, just as you do in the medical field," Picard replied, bringing his hands to rest on her shoulders. "Some patients die, and some live. You know that."

"Is that how you do it?" Crusher finally turned to look at him, not just his reflection. "Compartmentalize?"

Picard nodded. "It's the only way I know how," he admitted. "I can't afford to second-guess myself, no matter what the circumstances." They both knew he was thinking of his time with the Borg, and the awful consequences of his actions then. Although "Locutus of Borg" could hardly be considered to have made any decisions on his own, Picard still took responsibility for his alter-ego's actions. "If I questioned all of my decisions, soon I wouldn't be able to make any. And a commander who can't make decisions is worthless." He spoke with finality, and Crusher accepted his acceptance of her actions with a sigh as she turned for a kiss.

"You're right; I made a choice. A command decision," she corrected herself as her gaze returned to space. "I'll have to learn to live with my uncertainty over my motives."

"Just as every commander does," Picard agreed, relieved. Cold comfort, he knew, but the best he'd ever been given or had to offer under these particular circumstances.

Before he could allow himself to finally relax, however, she looked back at him with a frown. "I'm taking leave," she said abruptly.

"When?" he asked, unsettled by her tone. She was certainly entitled, more than any of them, and certainly wasn't the first to make the request. Of course, she wasn't requesting, she was telling him; under other circumstances he would be inclined to tease her for ordering him around. "For how long?"

"As soon as you can arrange it. I put the request on your desk. I want to go before Selar and Worf take their extended leave to Vulcan for the wedding." That date was still months in the future; before Picard could point that out, Crusher kissed him again. "I need to be gone for a couple of weeks at least. I contacted my grandmother, and she said I was welcome for as long as I wanted to stay. I need to deal with some other decisions, some things that are going on in my life that I'm not ready to tell anyone about," she added, knowing it wasn't enough of an explanation but unable to offer him more. Not now.

Picard gazed into her eyes for a long minute, gauging what he saw there. Determination, pain, and above all a weariness he found all too familiar. "I feel a bit as if you're shutting me out," he said softly.

Crusher had been expecting words of that sort, but they still hurt. "I love you," she said, just as softly. Not dropping her eyes, keeping her gaze steadily on his. "I promise I'll explain later, but right now this is something I have to work out on my own. I'm not leaving forever," she added. Then, with a small catch, "I'm not leaving you, Jean-Luc."

He pulled her close, kissing her again, feeling her respond but feeling the sudden distance between them as well. "Then I will wait, mon cher, until you return to me," he whispered against her lips.

They broke the embrace and turned their attention back to the endless stream of warp-streaked stars flashing by, beautiful and familiar, an ever-changing kaleidoscope that held both wonder and danger. Picard hoped Beverly wasn't just seeing the danger, and if a trip to visit family would help sort out her feelings, then he was completely behind her.

What the future held after that, well, they would find out in due course.


End file.
